THE
BLACK MAN,HIS ANTECEDENTS, HIS GENIUS,
AND HIS ACHIEVEMENTS.BYWILLIAM WELLS BROWN,
AUTHOR OF “CLOTELLE,” “SKETCHES OF PLACES AND PEOPLE ABROAD,”
“MIRALDA, OR THE BEAUTIFUL QUADROON,” ETC.

EX PEDE HERCULEM.

NEW YORK : THOMAS HAMILTON, 48 BEEKMAN STREET.BOSTON: R. F. WALLCUT, 221 WASHINGTON ST.1863.Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by
WILLIAM WELLS BROWN,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.
STEREOTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.

TOThe Advocates and Friends
OF
NEGRO FREEDOM AND EQUALITY,
WHEREVER FOUND,
This Volume is Respectfully Dedicated,
BY THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE.

THE calumniators and traducers of the Negro are
to be found, mainly, among two classes. The first
and most relentless are those who have done them
the greatest injury, by being instrumental in their
enslavement and consequent degradation. They
delight to descant upon the “natural inferiority” of
the blacks, and claim that we were destined only for
a servile condition, entitled neither to liberty nor the
legitimate pursuit of happiness. The second class
are those who are ignorant of the characteristics of
the race, and are the mere echoes of the first. To
meet and refute these misrepresentations, and to
supply a deficiency, long felt in the community, of a
work containing sketches of individuals who, by their
own genius, capacity, and intellectual development,
have surmounted the many obstacles which slavery
and prejudice have thrown in their way, and raised
themselves to positions of honor and influence, this
volume was written. The characters represented in
most of these biographies are for the first time put
in print. The author's long sojourn in Europe, his
opportunity of research amid the archives of England
and France, and his visit to the West Indies, have
given him the advantage of information respecting
the blacks seldom acquired.

If this work shall aid in vindicating the Negro's
character, and show that he is endowed with those
intellectual and amiable qualities which adorn and
dignify human nature, it will meet the most
sanguine hopes of the writer.

I WAS born at Lexington, Kentucky. My father, as I
was informed, was a member of the Wickliffe family; my
mother was of mixed blood; her father, it was said, was
the noted Daniel Boone, and her mother a negress. My
early life on the plantation was such as generally falls to
the lot of the young slave, till I arrived at the age of nine
years, when my position was changed. My master's brother
lost his wife, she leaving an infant son a few months old,
whom my mistress took to bring up. When this boy
became old enough to need a playmate to watch over him,
mistress called the young slaves together, to select one for
the purpose. We were all ordered to run, jump, wrestle,
turn somersets, walk on our hands, and go through the
various gymnastic exercises that the imagination of our
brain could invent, or the strength and activity of our
limbs could endure. The selection was to be an important
one, both to the mistress and the slave. Whoever should
gain the place was in the future to become a house servant;
the ask-cake thrown aside, that unmentionable garment
that buttons around the neck, which we all wore, and
nothing else, was to give way to the whole suit of tow
linen. Every one of us joined heartily in the contest,
while old mistress sat on the piazza, watching our every
movement—some fifteen of us, each dressed in his one
garment, sometimes standing on our heads with feet in the
air—still the lady looked on. With me it seemed a
matter of life and death; for, being blood kin to master, I
felt that I had more at stake than my companions. At
last the choice was made, and I was told to step aside as
the “lucky boy,” which order I obeyed with an alacrity
seldom surpassed. That night I was put to soak, after
which I was scraped, scrubbed, washed, and dried. The
next day, the new suit came down to the quarters; I
slipped into it; the young slaves gathered about me, and I
was the star of the plantation. My mother, one of the best
of mothers, placed her hands on my head, and, with tears
in her eyes, said, “I knowed you was born for good luck,
for a fortune-teller told me so when you was a baby layin'
in your little sugar trough. Go up to de great house where
you belong.” With this blessing I bade farewell to the log
hut and the dirt floor, and started towards the “big house.”
Mistress received me, and laid down the law which was to
govern my future actions. “I give your young master
over to you,” said she; “and if you let him hurt himself,
I'll pull your ears; if you let him cry, I'll pull your ears;
if he wants any thing, and you don't give it to him, I'll
pull your ears; when he goes to sleep, if you let him wake
before it is time, I'll pull your ears.” And right well did
she keep her promise, for my ears felt the impress of her
tender fingers and gold rings almost every day, and at
times nearly every hour.

Yet I would not have you suppose, gentle reader, that
my old mistress was of low or common origin; but on the
contrary, she boasted that the best blood of the south
coursed through her blue veins. My master, Dr. John
Young, was a man of considerable standing in his section
of the state. A member of the church, his set was not
often empty during religious service. He was very strict
as to the observance of the Sabbath, held prayer night and
morning, and entertained more travelling preachers than
almost any one in his neighborhood.

The doctor did not surpass his wife in devotedness to
religious observances. Of these travelling ministers, each
had a favorite, who in turn used to spend several days on
the plantation, hunting, shooting, fishing, visiting, and at
times preaching. The Rev. Mr. Pinchen was my mistress's
favorite, and he was indeed an interesting character. Short
and stout, somewhat inclined to corpulency, deeply pock-marked,
quick in his motions, and with a strong voice, he
was one of the funniest of men when telling his long stories
about his religious and other experiences in the south.

I had been in the great house nearly three years, when
Mr. Pinchen was expected to make his annual visit. The
stir about the dwellings, the cleaning of paint, the scalding
out of the bedbugs, an the orders and counter-orders
from Mrs. Young, showed plainly that something uncommon
was to take place. High and angry words had passed
between master and mistress, one morning, when the latter
weepingly and snuffingly exclaimed, “Never mind; you'll
not have me here always to hector and to worry: I'll die
one of these days, and then you'll be glad of it. Never
mind, keep on, and you'll send me to my grave before the
time. Never mind; one of these days the Lord will make
up his jewels, call me home to glory, and I'll be out of your
way, and I'll be devilish glad of it too.” Her weeping increased,
and she continued, “Never mind, brother Pinchen
will be here soon, and then I'll have somebody to talk to
me about religion.” At this moment, Hannah, the waiting
maid, entered the room, and Mrs. Young gave orders with
regard to Mr. Pinchen's visit. “Go, Hannah,” said she,
“and get the chamber ready for brother Pinchen: put on
the new linen sheets, and see that they are dry, and well
aired; if they are not, I'll air you, my lady.” The arrival
of the clergyman, the next day, was the signal for new and
interesting scenes. After the first morning's breakfast
was over, family prayer finished, the Bible put away, the
brandy replaced in the sideboard, and Dr. Young gone to
his office, Mr. Pinchen commenced the delivery of one of
those religious experiences for which be was so celebrated
wherever he was known. Mrs. Young and the minister
were seated at the round table, I standing behind her
chair, and Hannah clearing off the breakfast table, when
the servant of God began by saying, “Well, sister Young,
I've seen a heap since I was here last.”

“Well, sister Young, I've had great opportunity in my
time to study the human heart. I've attended a great
many camp meetings, revival meetings, protracted meetings,
and death-bed scenes, and I am satisfied, sister Young,
that the heart of man is full of sin and desperately wicked.
This is a wicked world, sister, a wicked world.”

Mrs. Young asked, “Were you ever in Arkansas, brother
Pinchen? I've been told that the people out there are
very ungodly.”

Mr. Pinchen said, “O, yes, sister Young; I once spent a
year at Little Rock, and preached in all the towns round
about there; and I found some hard cases out there, I can
tell you. I was once spending a week in a district where
there were a great many horse thieves, and one night
somebody stole my pony. Well, I knowed it was no use
to make a fuss; so I told brother Tarbox to say nothing
about it, and I'd get my horse by preaching God's
everlasting gospel; for I had faith in the truth, and knowed
that my Saviour would not let me lose my pony. So the
next Sunday I preached on horse-stealing, and told the
brethren to come up in the evenin' with their hearts filled
with the grace of God. So that night the house was
crammed brim full with anxious souls, panting for the
bread of life. Brother Bingham opened with prayer, and
brother Tarbox followed, and I saw right off that we were
gwine to have a blessed time. After I got 'em pretty well
warmed up, I jumped on to one of the seats, stretched out
my hands, and said: ‘I know who stole my pony; I've
found out; and you are here tryin' to make people believe
that you've got religion; but you ain't got it. And if you
don't take my horse back to brother Tarbox's pasture this
very night, I'll tell your name right out in meetin'
to-mor-row night. Take my pony back, you vile and wretched
sinner, and come up here and give your heart to God.’
So the next mornin', I went out to brother Tarbox's pasture,
and sure enough, there was my bob-tail pony. Yes,
sister, there he was, safe and sound. Ha, ha, ha!”

With uplifted hands, old mistress exclaimed, “O, how
interesting, and how fortunate for you to get your pony!
And what power there is in the gospel! God's children
are very lucky. O, it is so sweet to sit here and listen to
such good news from God's people!”

Hannah was so entranced with the conversation that she
had left her work, and, with eyes and mouth open, was
listening to the preacher. Turning aside, and in a low
voice, Mrs. Young harshly said, “Hannah, what are you
standing there listening for, and neglecting your work?
Never mind, my lady, I'll whip you well when I am done
here. Go at your work this moment, you lazy hussy.
Never mind, I'll whip you well.” Then, turning again to
the preacher, she said, “Come, do go on, brother Pinchen,
with your godly conversation. It is so sweet! It draws
me nearer and nearer to the Lord's side.”

“Well, sister Young,” continued he, “I've had some
mighty queer dreams in my time—that I have. You see,
one night I dreamed that I was dead and in heaven; and
such a place I never saw before. As soon as I entered the
gates of the celestial empire, I saw many old and familiar
faces that I had seen before. The first person that I saw
was good old Elder Pike, the preacher that first called my
attention to religion. The next person I saw was Deacon
Billings, my first wife's father; and then I saw a host of
godly faces. Why, sister Young, you knew Elder
Goosbee—didn't you?”

“Yes,” replied she; “did you see him there?”

“O yes, sister Young, I saw the elder, and he looked
for all the world as if he had just come out of a revival
meeting.”

“Did you see my first husband there, brother Pinchen?”

“No, sister Young, I didn't see brother Pepper, but I've
no doubt but that he was there.”

“Well, I don't know,” said she; “I have my doubts.
He was not the happiest man in the world. He was always
borrowing trouble about something or another. Still, I
saw some happy moments with Mr. Pepper. I was happy
when I made his acquaintance, happy during our courtship,
happy a while after our marriage, and happy when he died.”

Here she put her handkerchief to her eyes, and wept
bitterly for a moment. At this juncture Hannah asked,
“Did you see my husband, Ben, up in hebben, Massa
Pinchen?”

“No, no, Hannah, I didn't go amongst the blacks,”
answered he.

“Of course not,” said mistress; “brother Pinchen didn't
go among the niggers.” Turning aside to Hannah, and in
a whisper, she exclaimed, “What are you asking questions
for? Never mind, my lady, I'll whip you well when I'm
done here. I'll skin you from head to foot. Do go on with
your heavenly conversation, brother Pinchen; it does my
very soul good. This is indeed a precious moment for me.
I do love to hear of Christ and him crucified.”

After the conversation had ceased, and the preacher
gone out to call on Mrs. Daniels, Mrs. Young said to the
maid, “Now, Hannah, brother Pinchen is gone; you get
the cowhide, and I'll whip you well, for aggravating me as
you did to-day. It seems as if I can never sit down to
take a little comfort with the Lord, without the devil
putting it into your head to cross me. I've no doubt, Hannah,
that I'll miss going to heaven on your account; but
I'll whip you well before I leave this world—that I will.”
The servant received a flogging, Mrs. Young felt easier,
and I was in the kitchen amusing my fellow-slaves. with
telling over Mr. Pinchen's last experience. Here let me
say, that we regarded the religious profession of the whites
around us as a farce, and our master and mistress, together
with their guest, as mere hypocrites. During the entire
visit of the preacher, the servants had a joyful time over
my representations of what was going on in the great
house.

The removal of my master's family and slaves to the
centre of the State of Missouri about this time, caused
some change in our condition. My young master, William,
had now grown to be a stout boy of five years of age. No
restraint thrown around him by the doctor or his wife, aunt
Dolly, his nurse, not permitted to control any of his
actions, William had become impudent, petulant, peevish
and cruel. Sitting at the tea table, he would often desire
to make his entire meal out of the sweetmeats, the sugar-bowl,
or the cake; and when mistress would not allow him
to have them, he, in a fit of anger, would throw any thing
within his reach at me; spoons, knives, forks, and dishes
would be hurled at my head, accompanied with language
such as would astonish any one not well versed in the
injurious effects of slavery upon the rising generation.
Thomas Jefferson, in 1788, in a letter to M. Warville,
Paris, writing upon slavery, alludes to its influence upon
the young as follows:—

“The parent storms, the child looks on, catches the lineaments
of wrath, puts on the same airs in the circle of smaller
slaves, GIVES LOOSE TO HIS WORST PASSIONS; and, thus
nursed, educated, and daily exercised in tyranny, cannot
but be stamped by it with odious peculiarities.”

In the Virginia legislature, in the year 1832, Hon.
Lewis Summers said,—

“A slave population exercises the most pernicious
influence upon the manners, habits and character of those
whom it exists. Lisping infancy learns the vocabulary
of abusive epithets, and struts, the embryo tyrant of
its little domain. The consciousness of superior destiny
takes possession of his mind at its earliest dawning, and
love of power and rule ‘grows with his growth and
strengthens with his strength.’ Unless enabled to rise
above the operation of those powerful causes, he enters the
world with miserable notions of self-importance, and under
the government of an unbridled temper.”

Having, by speculation and mismanagement, lost the
most of his property, Dr. Young resumed the practice of
medicine in Missouri, and soon obtained a lucrative run of
custom. Here, as in Kentucky, the doctor took great
interest in matters of religion, and was considered one of
the pillars in the church.

Being sent one Sabbath morning to carry the sacramental
wine to the church, about a mile distant, I could
not withstand the temptation it presented of tasting it.
Having had one swallow, I was tempted further on, till the
beverage disappeared out of the neck of the bottle, so that
I felt afraid that if noticed by master, I should be flogged.
It occurred to me that I might fill up the bottle from one
of the sap tubs, as I passed through the sugar camp; for it
was the spring of the year, and we were making maple
sugar. I tried to pour the sap into the bottle, but it flared
over the top, leaving the wine still some inches down the
neck. After ransacking my inventive faculties, I fortunately
bit upon a plan and filled it up. Placing the bottle
on the ground, and sucking my mouth full of the juice, I
stood directly over the bottle and let it stream in until it
was full. Putting the stopple in, I started off towards the
church, feeling that I had got the advantage of master
once more.

My fair complexion was a great obstacle to my happiness,
both with whites and blacks, in and about the great
house. Often mistaken by strangers for a white boy, it
annoyed my mistress very much. On one occasion, a
visitor came to the place in the absence of the doctor.
While Mrs. Young was entertaining the major (for he was
a military man), I passed through the room, and going
near the stranger, he put out his hand and said to me,
“How do you do, bub?” and turning to the lady, he
exclaimed, “Madam, I would have known that he was the
doctor's son, if I had met him in California, for he is so
much like his papa.” Mistress ordered me out of the
room, and remarked that I was one of the servants, when
the major begged pardon for the mistake. After the
stranger was gone, I was flogged for his blunder.

Dr. Young sold his large farm, which was situated in
the central part of the state, and removed to St. Louis,
where a number of the servants were let out. I was put
to work tending upon the hands in the office of the “St.
Louis Times,” a newspaper owned and published by Lovejoy
& Miller, and edited by Elijah P. Lovejoy. Here my
young heart began to feel more longings for liberty. The
love of freedom is a sentiment natural to the human heart,
and the want of it is felt by him who does not possess it.
He feels it a reproach; and with this sting, this wounded
pride, hating degradation, and looking forward to the
cravings of the heart, the enslaved is always on the alert
for an opportunity to escape from his oppressors and to
avenge his wrongs. What greater injury and indignity
can be offered to man, than to make him the bond-slave of
his fellow-man?

My sojourn in the printing office was of short duration,
and I was afterwards let out to a slave-trader named
Walker. This heartless, cruel, ungodly man, who neither
loved his Maker nor feared Satan, was a fair representative
of thousands of demons in human form that are engaged
in buying and selling God's children.

One year with Walker, beholding scenes of cruelty that
can be better imagined than described, I was once more
taken home, and soon after hired out as an under steward
on the steamer Patriot, running to New Orleans. This
opened to me a new life, and gave me an opportunity to
see different phases of slave life, and to learn something
more of the world. Life on the Mississippi River is an
exciting one. I had not been on the boat but a few weeks
when one of those races for which the southern steamers
are so famous took place.

At eight o'clock on the evening of the third day of the
passage, the lights of another steamer were seen in the
distance, and apparently coming up very fast. This was
the signal for a general commotion on board the Patriot,
and every thing indicated that a steamboat race was at
hand. Nothing can exceed the excitement attendant upon
the racing of steamers on the Mississippi.

By the time the boats had reached Memphis they were
side by side, and each exerting itself to get in advance of
the other. The night was clear, the moon shining brightly,
and the boats so near to each other that the passengers
were within speaking distance. On board the Patriot the
firemen were using oil, lard, butter, and even bacon, with
wood, for the purpose of raising the steam to its highest
pitch. The blaze mingled with the black smoke that issued
from the pipes of the other boat, which showed that she
also was burning something more combustible than wood.

The firemen of both boats, who were slaves, were singing
songs such as can only be heard on board a southern
steamer. The boats now came abreast of each other, and
nearer and nearer, until they were locked so that men
could pass from one to the other. The wildest excitement
prevailed among the men employed on the steamers, in
which the passengers freely participated.

At this moment the engineer of the Patriot was seen to
fasten down the safety-valve, so that no steam should
escape. This was indeed a dangerous resort, and a few
who saw what had taken place, fearing that an explosion
would be the consequence, left that part of the boat for
more secure quarters.

The Patriot now stopped to take in passengers; but still
no steam was permitted to escape. On the starting of the
boat again, cold water was forced into the boilers by the
feed-pumps, and, as might have been expected, one of the
boilers exploded with terrific force, carrying away the
boiler deck and tearing to pieces much of the machinery.
One dense fog of steam filled every part of the vessel,
while shrieks, groans, and cries were heard on every side.
Men were running hither and thither looking for their
wives, and women were flying about, in the wildest
confusion, seeking for their husbands. Dismay appeared on
every countenance.

The saloons and cabins soon looked more like hospitals
than any thing else; but by this time the Patriot had
drifted to the shore, and the other steamer had come alongside
to render assistance to the disabled boat. The killed
and wounded (nineteen in number) were put on shore, and
the Patriot, taken in tow by the Washington, was once
more on her journey.

It was half past twelve, and the passengers, instead of
retiring to their berths, once more assembled at the gaming
tables. The practice of gambling on the western waters
has long been a source of annoyance to the more moral
persons who travel on our great rivers. Thousands of
dollars often change owners during a passage from St. Louis
or Louisville to New Orleans on a Mississippi steamer.
Many men are completely ruined on such occasions, and
duels are often the consequence.

“Go call my boy, steward,” said Mr. Jones, as he took
his cards one by one from the table.

In a few minutes a fine-looking, bright-eyed mulatto
boy, apparently about sixteen years of age, was standing
by his master's side at the table.

“I am broke, all but my boy,” said Jones, as he ran his
fingers through his cards; “but he is worth a thousand
dollars, and I will bet the half of him.”

“I will call you,” said Thompson, as he laid five hundred
dollars at the feet of the boy, who was standing on the
table, and at the same time throwing down his cards before
his adversary.

“You have beaten me,” said Jones; and a roar of laughter
followed from the other gentleman as poor Joe stepped
down from the table.

“Well, I suppose I owe you half the nigger,” said
Thompson, as he took hold of Joe and began examining
his limbs.

“Yes,” replied Jones, “he is half yours. Let me have
five hundred dollars, and I will give you a bill of sale of
the boy.”

“Go back to your bed,” said Thompson to his chattel,
“and remember that you now belong to me.”

The poor slave wiped the tears from his eyes, as, in
obedience, he turned to leave the table.

“My father gave me that boy,” said Jones, as he took
the money, “and I hope, Mr. Thompson, that you will
allow me to redeem him.”

“Most certainly, sir,” replied Thompson; “whenever
you hand over the cool thousand the negro is yours.”

Next morning, as the passengers were assembling in the
cabin and on deck, and while the slaves were running
about waiting on or looking for their masters, poor Joe
was seen entering his new master's state-room, boots in
hand.

Such is the uncertainty of a slave's life. He goes to bed
at night the pampered servant of his young master, with
whom he has played in childhood, and who would not see
his slave abused under any consideration, and gets up in
the morning the property of a man whom he has never
before seen.

To behold five or six tables in the saloon of a steamer,
with half a dozen men playing cards at each, with
money, pistols, and bowie-knives spread in splendid
confusion before them, is an ordinary thing on the Mississippi
River.

Continued intercourse with educated persons, and meeting
on the steamer so many travellers from the free states,
caused me to feel more keenly my degraded and unnatural
situation. I gained much information respecting the north
and Canada that was valuable to me, and I resolved to
escape with my mother, who had been sold to a gentleman
in St. Louis. The attempt was made, but we were unsuccessful.
I was then sold to Mr. Samuel Willi, a merchant
tailor. I was again let out to be employed on a Mississippi
steamboat, but was soon after sold to Captain E. Price, of
the Chester. To escape from slavery and become my own
master, was now the ruling passion of my life. I would
dream at night that I was free, and, on awaking, weep to
find myself still a slave.
“I would think of Victoria's domain;In a moment I seemed to be there;But the fear of being taken againSoon hurried me back to despair.”
Thoughts of the future, and my heart yearning for liberty,
kept me always planning to escape.

The long-looked-for opportunity came, and I embraced
it. Leaving the steamer upon which my now master had
me at work, I started for the north, travelling at night and
lying by during the day. It was in the winter season,
and I suffered much from cold and hunger. Supposing
every person to be my enemy, I was afraid to appeal to
any one, even for a little food, to keep body and soul
together. As I pressed forward, my escape to Canada
seemed certain, and this feeling gave me a light heart; for
“Behind I left the whips and chains,Before me were sweet Freedom's plains.”
While on my journey at night, and passing farms, I would
seek a corn-crib, and supply myself with some of its
contents. The next day, while buried in the forest, I would
make a fire and roast my corn, and drink from the nearest
stream. One night, while in search of corn, I came upon
what I supposed to be a hill of potatoes, buried in the
ground for want of a cellar. I obtained a sharp-pointed
piece of wood, with which I dug away for more than an
hour, and on gaining the hidden treasure, found it to be
turnips. However, I did not dig for nothing. After
supplying myself with about half a dozen of the turnips, I
again resumed my journey. This uncooked food was indeed
a great luxury, and gave strength to my fatigued limbs.
The weather was very cold,—so cold, that it drove me
one night into a barn, where I lay in the hay until morning.
A storm overtook me when about a week out. The
rain fell in torrents, and froze as it came down. My clothes
became stiff with ice. Here again I took shelter in a barn,
and walked about to keep from freezing. Nothing but the
fear of being arrested and returned to slavery prevented
me, at this time, seeking shelter in some dwelling.

After many days of weary travelling, and sick from ex-
exposure, I determined to seek shelter and aid; and for this
purpose, I placed myself behind some fallen trees near the
main road, hoping to see some colored person, thinking I
should be more safe under the care of one of my own
color. Several farmers with their teams passed, but the
appearance of each one frightened me out of the idea of
asking for assistance. After lying on the ground for some
time, with my sore, frost-bitten feet benumbed with cold,
I saw an old, white-haired man, dressed in a suit of drab,
with a broad-brimmed bat, walking along, leading a horse.
The man was evidently walking for exercise. I came out
from my hiding-place and told the stranger I must die
unless I obtained some assistance. A moment's conversation
satisfied the old man that I was one of the oppressed,
fleeing from the house of bondage. From the difficulty
with which I walked, the shivering of my limbs, and the
trembling of my voice, he became convinced that I had
been among thieves, and be acted the part of the Good
Samaritan. This was the first person I had ever seen of
the religious sect called “Quakers,” and his name was
Wells Brown. I remained here about a fortnight, and
being fitted out with clothes, shoes, and a little money, by
these good people, I was again ready to resume my journey.
I entered their house with the single name that I
was known by at the south, “William;” I left it with the
one I now bear.

A few days more, and I arrived at Cleveland, Ohio,
where I found employment during the remainder of the
winter. Having no education, my first thoughts went in
that direction. Obtaining a situation the following spring
on a Lake Erie Steamer, I found that I could be very
serviceable to slaves who were escaping from the south to
Canada. In one year alone I assisted sixty fugitives in
crossing to the British queen's dominions. Many of these
escapes were attended with much interest. On one occasion,
a fugitive had been hid away in the house of a noted
abolitionist in Cleveland for ten days, while his master was
in town, and watching every steamboat and vessel that
left the port. Several officers were also on the watch,
guarding the house of the abolitionist every night. The
slave was a young and valuable man, of twenty-two years
of age, and very black. The friends of the slave had
almost despaired of getting him away from his hiding-place,
when I was called in, and consulted as to the best
course to be taken. I at once inquired if a painter could
be found who would paint the fugitive white. In an hour,
by my directions, the black man was as white, and with as
rosy cheeks, as any of the Anglo-Saxon race, and disguised
in the dress of a woman, with a thick veil over her face.
As the steamer's bell was tolling for the passengers to
come on board, a tall lady, dressed in deep mourning, and
leaning on the arm of a gentleman of more than ordinary
height, was seen entering the ladies' cabin of the steamer
North America, who took her place with the other
ladies. Soon the steamer left the wharf, and the
slave-catcher and his officers, who had been watching the boat
since her arrival, went away, satisfied that their slave had
not escaped by the North America, and returned to
guard the house of the abolitionist. After the boat had
got out of port, and fairly on her way to Buffalo, I showed
the tall lady to her state-room. The next morning, the
fugitive, dressed in his plantation suit, bade farewell to his
native land, crossed the Niagara River, and took up his
abode in Canada.

I remained on Lake Erie during the sailing season, and
resided in Buffalo in the winter. In the autumn of 1843 I
was invited by the officers of the Western New York
Anti-Slavery Society to take an agency as a lecturer in behalf
of my enslaved countrymen, which offer I accepted, and
soon commenced my labors. Mobs were very frequent in
those days. Being advertised to address the citizens of
Aurora, Erie County, New York, on one occasion, I went
to fulfil the appointment, and found the church surrounded
by a howling set of men and boys, waiting to give me a
warm reception. I went in, opened the meeting, and
began my address. But they were resolved on having a
good time, and the disturbance was so great that I had to
stop. In the mean time, a bag of flour had been brought
to the church, taken up into the belfry, directly over the
entrance door, and a plan laid to throw the whole of it
over me as I should pass out of the house, of all which my
friends and I were unaware. After I bad been driven
from the pulpit by the unsalable eggs, which were thrown
about very freely, I stopped in the body of the church to
discuss a single point with one of the respectable rowdies,
when the audience became silent, and I went on and spoke
above an hour, all the while receiving the strictest attention
from every one present. At the conclusion the lights
were put out, and preparation made to flour me over,
although I had evidently changed the opinions of many of
their company. As we were jamming along towards the
door, one of the mob whispered to me, “They are going
to throw a bag of flour on you; so when you hear any one
say, ‘Let it slide,’ you look out.” Thus on my guard, and
in possession of their signal, I determined to have a little
fun at their expense. Therefore, when some of the best
dressed and most respectable looking of their own
company, or those who had no sympathy with my mission,
filled up the doorway, I cried out in a disguised voice,
“Let it slide;” and down came the contents of the bag, to
the delight of my friends and the consternation of the
enemy. A quarrel arose among the men at the door, and
while they were settling their difficulty, my few friends and
I quietly walked away unharmed.

Invited by influential English abolitionists, and elected
a delegate to the Peace Congress at Paris, I sailed for
Liverpool in the Royal Mail Steamship Canada, in the
month of July, 1849. The passage was pleasant, and we
arrived out in less than ten days.

I visited Dublin, where I partook of the hospitality of
Richard D. Webb, Esq., and went from there to London;
thence to Paris, to discharge the duties of my mission on
peace.

In the French capital I met some of the most noted of
the English philanthropists, who were also there in attendance
on the Congress—Joseph Sturge, Richard Cobden,
and men of that class.

Returning to London after the adjournment of the peace
gathering, I was invited to various parts of the United
Kingdom, and remained abroad a little more than five
years, during which time I wrote and published three
books, lectured in every town of any note in England,
Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, besides visiting the Continent
four times.

Anxious to be again in my native land, battling the
monster Slavery, I returned home to America in the
autumn of 1854; since which time I have travelled the
length and breadth of the free states.

From the Scotch Independent, June 20,1852.
WILLIAM WELLS BROWN.

ONE of the best arguments against the institution of slavery in America, and
in favor of letting the African and his descendants go free, is to be found in the
natural genius, manly courage, and ability exhibited by specimens of the race
which have come to us from the other side of the Atlantic. Our citizens have
not forgotten the visit of Mr. William Wells Brown, who so charmed them
with his eloquent addresses on that occasion. But it is not on the platform
that this gentleman makes the best show of talent. We have just received his
“Three Years in Europe,” and it is as a writer that he creates the most
profound sensation.

He is no ordinary man, or he could not have so remarkably surmounted the
many difficulties and impediments of his training as a slave. By dint of
resolution, self-culture, and force of character, he has rendered himself a popular
lecturer to a British audience, and vigorous expositor of the evils and atrocities
of that system whose chains he has shaken off so triumphantly and forever.
We may safely pronounce William Wells Brown a remarkable man, and a full
refutation of the doctrine of the inferiority of the negro.

This is an interesting volume, ably written, bearing on every page the
impress of honest purpose and noble aspiration. One is amused by the well-told
anecdotes, and charmed with the painter-like descriptions of towns, cities, and
natural scenery. Indeed, our author gives many very recognizable sketches of
the places he has seen and people he has met.

We are not alone in our high estimation of the author's abilities, for we
observe that the press of this country is unanimous in its praise of his book.
The Literary Gazette, an excellent authority, says of it,—

“The appearance of this book is too remarkable a literary event to pass without
a notice. At the moment when attention in this country is directed to the
state of the colored people in America, the book appears with additional
advantage; if nothing else were attained by its publication, it is well to have another
proof of the capability of the negro intellect. Altogether, Mr. Brown has
written a pleasing and amusing volume, and we are glad to bear this testimony
to the literary merit of a work by a negro author.”

The Eclectic Review, edited by the venerable Dr. Price, one of the best critics
in the realm, has the following :—

“Though he never had a day's schooling in his life, he has produced a literary
work not unworthy of a highly-educated gentleman. Our readers will find
In these letters much instruction, not a little entertainment, and the beatings of
a manly heart, on behalf of a down-trodden race, with which they will not fail
to sympathize.”

The Rev. Dr. Campbell, in the British Banner, devotes nearly two columns to
Mr. Brown and his work, and concludes in these words:—

“We have read this book with an unusual measure of interest. Seldom,
indeed, have we met with anything more captivating. It somehow happens
that all these fugitive slaves are persons of superior talents. The pith of the
volume consists in narratives of voyages and journeys made by the author in
England, Scotland, Ireland, and France; and we can assure our readers that
Mr. Brown has travelled to some purpose. The number of white men is not
great who could have made more of the many things that came before them.
There is in the work a vast amount of quotable matter, which, but for want of
space, we should be glad to extract. As the volume, however, is published
with a view to promote the benefit of the interesting fugitive, we deem it better
to give it general opinion, by which curiosity may be whetted, than to gratify it
by large citation. A book more worth the money has not, for a considerable
time, come into our hands.”

And even a word of cheer comes to the author from Printing-House Square,
for The Times reviews the book, and says,—

“He writes with ease and ability, and his intelligent observations upon the
great question to which he has devoted and is devoting his life will be read with
interest, kind will command influence and respect.”

If this be a fair representative of the American slaves, (and we see no reason
to doubt it,) the sooner that our trans-Atlantic cousins abolish their hateful
system, the better it will be for the character of those who profess to love
Christ, and to live up to his precepts. Such men as William Wells Brown,
Frederick Douglass, and the Rev. Alexander Crummell, will lose nothing by a
comparison with the best educated and most highly cultivated of the Anglo-Saxons.
We are also glad to see that his refinements and talents are appreciated
by the literary circles of London; for we observed his name among the list of
notables at a party given by Mr. Charles Dickens, on the 20th inst. Such
treatment will encourage him, while it will at the same time rebuke that spirit
of caste, on the other side of the ocean, which excludes from society the man
of true merit on account of his color.

THE BLACK MAN
AND
HIS ANTECEDENTS.

OF the great family of man, the negro has, during
the last half century, been more prominently before
the world than any other race. He did not seek this
notoriety. Isolated away in his own land, he would
have remained there, had it not been for the avarice
of other races, who sought him out as a victim of
slavery. Two and a half centuries of the negro's
enslavement have created, in many minds, the opinion
that he is intellectually inferior to the rest of
mankind; and now that the blacks seem in a fair way to
get their freedom in this country, it has been asserted,
and from high authority in the government, that the
natural inferiority of the negro makes it impossible
for him to live on this continent with the white man,
unless in a state of bondage.

In his interview with a committee of the colored
citizens of the District of Columbia, on the 14th of
August last, the President of the United States
intimated that the whites and the blacks could not live
together in peace, on account of one race being
superior intellectually to the other. Mr. Postmaster
General Blair, in his letter to the Union mass meeting
held at the Cooper Institute, in New York, in March
last, takes this ground. The Boston “Post” and
“Courier” both take the same position.

I admit that the condition of my race, whether
considered in a mental, moral, or intellectual point of
view, at the present time cannot compare favorably
with the Anglo-Saxon. But it does not become the
whites to point the finger of scorn at the blacks, when
they have so long been degrading them. The negro
has not always been considered the inferior race.
The time was when he stood at the head of science
and literature. Let us see.

It is the generally received opinion of the most
eminent historians and ethnologists, that the Ethiopians
were really negroes, although in them the physical
characteristics of the race were exhibited in a less
marked manner than in those dwelling on the coast of
Guinea, from whence the stock or American slaves
has been chiefly derived. That, in the earliest periods
of history, the Ethiopians had attained a high degree
of civilization, there is every reason to believe; and
that to the learning and science derived from them we
must ascribe those wonderful monuments which still
exist to attest the power and skill of the ancient
Egyptians.

Among those who favor this opinion is our own
distinguished countryman, Alexander H. Everett, and
upon this evidence I base my argument. Volney
assumes it as a settled point that the Egyptians were
black. Herodotus, who travelled extensively through
that interesting land, set them down as black, with
curled hair, and having the negro features. The
sacred writers were aware of their complexion: hence
the question, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin?”
The image of the negro is engraved upon the
monuments of Egypt, not as a bondman, but as the master
of art. The Sphinx, one of the wonders of the world,
surviving the wreck of centuries, exhibits these same
features at the present day. Minerva, the goddess of
wisdom, was supposed to have been an African
princess. Atlas, whose shoulders sustained the globe, and
even the great Jupiter Ammon himself, were located
by the mythologists in Africa. Though there may not
be much in these fables, they teach us, nevertheless,
who were then considered the nobles of the human
race. Euclid, Homer, and Plato were Ethiopians.
Terence, the most refined and accomplished scholar of
his time, was of the same race. Hanno, the father of
Hamilear, and grandfather of Hannibal, was a negro.
These are the antecedents of the enslaved blacks on
this continent.

From whence sprang the Anglo-Saxon? For, mark
you, it is he that denies the equality of the negro.
“When the Britons first became known to the Tyrian
mariners,” says Macaulay, “they were little superior
to the Sandwich Islanders.”

Hume says they were a rude and barbarous people,
divided into numerous tribes, dressed in the skins of
wild beasts. Druidism was their religion, and they
were very superstitious. Such is the first account we
have of the Britons. When the Romans invaded that
country, they reduced the people to a state of vassalage
as degrading as that of slavery in the Southern
States. Their king, Caractacus, was captured and sent
a slave to Rome. Still later, Hengist and Horsa, the
Saxon generals, presented another yoke, which the
Britons wore compelled to wear. But the last dregs
of the bitter cup of humiliation were drunk when
William of Normandy met Harold at Hastings, and,
with a single blow, completely annihilated the nationality
of the Britons. Thousands of the conquered
people were then sent to the slave markets of Rome,
where they were sold very cheap on account of their
inaptitude to learn.

This is not very flattering to the President's ancestors,
but it is just. Cæsar, in writing home, said of
the Britons, “They are the most ignorant people I
ever conquered. They cannot be taught music.”
Cicero, writing to his friend Atticus, advised him not
to buy slaves from England, “because,” said he, “they
cannot be taught to read, and are the ugliest and most
stupid race I ever saw.” I am sorry that Mr. Lincoln
came from such a low origin; but he is not to blame.
I only find fault with him for making mouths at me.

“You should not the ignorant negro despise;Just such your sires appeared in Cæsar's eyes.”

The Britons lost their nationality, became amalgamated
with the Romans, Saxons, and Normans, and out of
this conglomeration sprang the proud Anglo-Saxon of
to-day. I once stood upon the walls of an English
city, built by enslaved Britons when Julius Cæsar was
their master. The image of the ancestors of President
Lincoln and Montgomery Blair, as represented
in Britain, was carved upon the monuments of Rome,
where they may still be seen in their chains. Ancestry
is something which the white American should not
speak of, unless with his lips to the dust.

“Nothing,” says Macaulay, “in the early existence
of Britain, indicated the greatness which she was
destined to attain.” Britain has risen, while proud
Rome, Once the mistress of the world, has fallen; but
the image of the early Englishman in his chains, as
carved twenty centuries ago, is still to be seen upon
her broken monuments. So has Egypt fallen ; and
her sable sons and daughters have been scattered into
nearly every land where the white man has introduced
slavery and disgraced the soil with his footprint. As
I gazed upon the beautiful and classic obelisk of
Luxor, removed from Thebes, where it had stood four
thousand years, and transplanted to the Place de la
Concorde, at Paris, and contemplated its hieroglyphic
inscription of the noble daring of Sesostris, the African
general, who drew kings at his chariot wheels, and
left monumental inscriptions from Ethiopia to India, I
felt proud of my antecedents, proud of the glorious
past, which no amount of hate and prejudice could
wipe from history's page, while I had to mourn over
the fall and the degradation of my race. But I do
not despair; for the negro has that intellectual genius
which God has planted in the mind of man, that
distinguishes him from the rest of creation, and which
needs only cultivation to make it bring forth fruit.
No nation has ever been found, which, by its own
unaided efforts, by some powerful inward impulse, has
arisen from barbarism and degradation to civilization
and respectability. There is nothing in race or blood,
in color or features, that imparts susceptibility of
improvement to one race over another. The mind left
to itself from infancy, without culture, remains a
blank. Knowledge is not innate. Development
makes the man. As the Greeks, and Romans, and
Jews drew knowledge from the Egyptians three thousand
years ago, and the Europeans received it from
the Romans, so must the blacks of this land rise in
the same way. As one man learns from another, so
nation learns from nation. Civilization is handed
from one people to another, its great fountain and
source being God our Father. No one, in the days of
Cicero and Tacitus, could have predicted that the
barbarism and savage wildness of the Germans would
give place to the learning, refinement, and culture
which that people now exhibit. Already the blacks
on this continent, though kept down under the heel of
the white man, are fast rising in the scale of intellectual
development, and proving their equality with the
brotherhood of man.

In his address before the Colonization Society, at
Washington, on the 18th of January, 1853, Hon.
Edward Everett said, “When I lived in Cambridge, a
few years ago, I used to attend, as one of the board
of visitors, the examinations of a classical school, in
which was a colored boy, the son of a slave in Mississippi,
I think. He appeared to me to be of pure African
blood. There were at the same time two youths
from Georgia, and one of my own sons, attending the
same school. I must say that this poor negro boy,
Beverly Williams, was one of the best scholars at the
school, and in the Latin language he was the best
scholar in his class. There are others, I am told,
which show still more conclusively the aptitude of the
colored race for every kind of intellectual culture.”

Mr. Everett cited several other instances which
had fallen under his notice, and utterly scouted the
idea that there was any general inferiority of the
African race. He said, “They have done as well as
persons of European or Anglo-American origin would
have done, after three thousand years of similar
depression and hardship. The question has been asked,
‘Does not the negro labor under some incurable,
natural inferiority?’ In this, for myself, I have no
belief.”

I think that this is ample refutation of the charge
of the natural inferiority of the negro. President
Lincoln, in the interview to which I have already
referred, said, “But for your race among us there would
not be a war.” This reminds me of an incident that
occurred while travelling in the State of Ohio, in
1844. Taking the stage coach at a small village, one
of the passengers (a white man) objected to my being
allowed a seat inside, on account of my color. I
persisted, however, in claiming the right which my
ticket gave me, and got in. The objector at once took
a seat on a trunk on the top of the coach. The wire
netting round the top of the stage not being strong,
the white passenger, trunks and all, slid off as we were
going down a steep hill. The top passenger's shoulder
was dislocated, and in his pain he cried out, “If you
had not been black, I should not have left my seat
inside.”

The “New York Herald,” the “Boston Post,” the
“Boston Courier,” and the “New York Journal of
Commerce,” take the lead in misrepresenting the
effect which emancipation in the West Indies had
upon the welfare of those islands. It is asserted that
general ruin followed the black man's liberation. As
to the British colonies, the fact is well established
that slavery had impoverished the soil, demoralized
the people, bond and free, brought the planters to a
state of bankruptcy, and all the islands to ruin, long
before Parliament had passed the act of emancipation.
All the colonies, including Jamaica, had petitioned
the home government for assistance, ten years prior to
the liberation of their slaves. It is a noticeable fact,
that the free blacks were the least embarrassed, in a
pecuniary point of view, and that they appeared in
more comfortable circumstances than the whites.
There was a large proportion of free blacks in each of
the colonies, Jamaica alone having fifty-five thousand
before the day of emancipation. A large majority of
the West India estates were owned by persons residing
in Europe, and who had never seen the colonies.
These plantations were carried on by agents, overseers,
and clerks, whose mismanagement, together with the
blighting influence which chattel slavery takes with it
wherever it goes, brought the islands under impending
ruin, and many of the estates were mortgaged in
Europe for more than their value. One man alone, Neil
Malcomb, of London, had forty plantations to fall
upon his hands for money advanced on them before
the abolition of slavery. These European proprietors,
despairing of getting any returns from the West
Indies, gladly pocketed their share of the twenty million
pounds sterling, which the home government gave
them, and abandoned their estates to their ruin.
Other proprietors residing in the colonies formed
combinations to make the emancipated people labor for
scarcely enough to purchase food for them. If found
idle, the tread-wheel, the chain-gang, the dungeon,
with black bread, and water from the moat, and other
modes of legalized torture, were inflicted upon the
negroes. Through the determined and combined
efforts of the land owners, the condition of the freed
people was as bad, if not worse, for the first three
years after their liberation, than it was before. Never
was all experiment more severely tested than that of
emancipation in the West Indies.

Nevertheless, the principles of freedom triumphed;
not a drop of blood was shed by the enfranchised
blacks; the colonies have arisen from the blight which
they labored under in the time of slavery; the land
has increased in value; and, above all, that which is
more valuable than cotton, sugar, or rice—the moral
and intellectual condition of both blacks and whites
is in a better state now than ever before. Sir William
Colebrook, governor of Antigua, said, six years after
the islands were freed, “At the lowest computation,
the land, without a single slave upon it, is fully as
valuable now as it was, including all the slaves, before
emancipation.” In a report made to the British
Parliament, in 1859, it was stated that three fifths of the
cultivated land of Jamaica was the bona fide property
of the blacks. The land is in a better state of
cultivation now than it was while slavery existed, and both
imports and exports show a great increase. Every
thing, demonstrates that emancipation in the West
India islands has resulted in the most satisfactory
manner, and fulfilled the expectation of the friends of
freedom throughout the world.

Rev. Mr. Underhill, secretary of the English Baptist
Missionary Society, who has visited Jamaica, and
carefully studied its condition, said, in a recent speech
in London, that the late slaves in that island had built
some two hundred and twenty chapels. The churches
that worship in them number fifty-three thousand
communicants, amounting to one eighth of the total
population. The average attendance, in other than
the state churches, is ninety-one thousand—a fourth
of the population. One third of the children—
twenty-two thousand—are in the schools. The
blacks voluntarily contribute twenty-two thousand
pounds (one hundred and ten thousand dollars)
annually for religious purposes. Their landed property
exceeds five million dollars. Valuing their
cottages at only fifty dollars each, these amount to three
million dollars. They have nearly three hundred
thousand dollars deposited in the savings banks.
The sum total of their property is much above eleven
million dollars. All this has been accumulated since
their emancipation.

Thus it is seen that all parties have been benefited
by the abolition of negro slavery in the British
possessions. Now we turn to our own land. Among the
many obstacles which have been brought to bear
against emancipation, one of the most formidable has
been the series of objections urged against it upon
what has been supposed to be the slave's want of
appreciation of liberty, and his ability to provide for
himself in a state of freedom; and now that slavery
seems to be near its end, these objections are
multiplying, and the cry is heard all over the land, “What
shall be done with the slave if freed?”

It has been clearly demonstrated, I think, that the
enslaved of the south are as capable of self-support as
any other class of people in the country. It is well
known that, throughout the entire south, a large class
of slaves have been for years accustomed to hire their
time from their owners. Many of these have paid
very high prices for the privilege. Some able mechanics
have been known to pay as high as six hundred
dollar per annum, besides providing themselves with
food and clothing; and this class of slaves, by their
industry, have taken care of themselves so well, and
their appearance has been so respectable, that many of
the states have passed laws prohibiting masters from
letting their slaves out to themselves, because, as it
was said, it made the other slaves dissatisfied to see so
many of their fellows well provided, and accumulating
something for themselves in the way of pocket
money.

The Rev. Dr. Nehemiah Adams, whose antecedents
have not been such as to lead to the suspicion that he
favors the free colored men, or the idea of giving to
the slaves their liberty, in his “South-Side View,”
unconsciously and unintentionally gives a very valuable
statement upon this particular point. Dr. Adams
says, “A slave woman having had three hundred
dollars stolen from her by a white man, her master was
questioned in court as to the probability of her having
had so much money. The master said that he not
unfrequently had borrowed fifty and a hundred dollars
from her himself, and added that she was always very
strict as to his promised time of payment.” There
was a slave woman who had not only kept every
agreement with her master—paying him every cent she had
promised—but had accumulated three hundred
dollars towards purchasing her liberty ; and it was stolen
from her, not by a black man, but, as Dr. Adams says,
by a white man.

But one of the clearest demonstrations of the ability
of the slave to provide for himself in a state of
freedom is to be found in the prosperous condition of the
large free colored population of the Southern States.
Maryland has eighty thousand, Virginia seventy
thousand, and the other slave states have a large number.
These free people have all been slaves, or they are the
descendants of those who were once slaves; what they
have gained has been acquired in spite of the public
opinion and laws of the south, in spite of prejudice,
and every thing. They have acquired a large amount
of property; and it is this industry, this sobriety, this
intelligence, and this wealth of the free colored people
the south, that has created so much prejudice on
the part of slaveholders against them. They have felt
that the very presence of a colored man, looking so
genteelly and in such a prosperous condition, made
the slaves unhappy and discontented. In the Southern
Rights Convention which assembled at Baltimore,
June 8, 1860, a resolution was adopted, calling on
the legislature to pass a law driving the free colored
people out of the state. Nearly every speaker took
the ground that the free colored people must be driven
out to make the slave's obedience more secure. Judge
Mason, in his speech, said, “It is the thrifty and well-to-do
free negroes, that are seen by our slaves, that
make them dissatisfied.” A similar appeal was made
to the legislature of Tennessee. Judge Catron, of the
Supreme Court of the United States, in a long and
able letter to the Nashville “Union,” opposed the
driving out of the colored people. He said they were
among the best mechanics, the best artisans, and the
most industrious laborers in the state, and that to
drive them, out would be an injury to the state itself.
This is certainly good evidence in their behalf.

The New Orleans “True Delta” opposed the passage
of a similar law by the State of Louisiana. Among
other things it said, “There are a large free colored
population here, correct in their general deportment,
honorable in their intercourse with society, and free
from reproach so far as the laws are concerned, not
surpassed in the inoffensiveness of their lives by any
equal number of persons in any place, north or
south.”

A movement was made in the legislature of South
Carolina to expel the free blacks from that state, and
a committee was appointed to investigate the matter.
In their report the committee said, “We find that the
free blacks of this state are among our most industrious
people; in this city (Charleston) we find that they
own over two and a half millions of dollars worth of
property; that they pay two thousand seven hundred
dollars tax to the city.”

Dr. Nehemiah Adams, whom I have already quoted,
also testifies to the good character of the free colored
people; but he does it unintentionally; it was not a
part of the programme; how it slipped in I cannot tell.
Here it is, however, from page 41 of his “South-Side
View:”—

“A prosecuting officer, who had six or eight counties
in his district, told me that, during eight years
service, he had made out about two thousand bills
of indictment, of which not more than twelve were
against colored persons.”

Hatred of the free colored people, and abuse of them,
have always been popular with the pro-slavery people
of this country; yet, an American senator from one
of the Western States—a man who never lost an
opportunity to vilify and traduce the colored man, and
who, in his last canvass for a seat in the United States
Senate, argued that the slaves were better off in
slavery than they would be if set free, and declared that
the blacks were unable to take care of themselves
while enjoying liberty—died, a short time since,
twelve thousand dollars in debt to a black man, who
was the descendant of a slave.

There is a Latin phrase—De mortuis nil nisi bonum.It is not saying any thing against the reputation of
Hon. Stephen A. Douglas to tell the fact that he had
borrowed money from a negro. I only find fault with
him that he should traduce the class that befriended
him in the time of need. James Gordon Bennett, of
the New York Herald, in a time of great pecuniary
distress, soon after establishing his paper, borrowed
three hundred dollars of a black man; and now he is
one of our most relentless enemies. Thus it is that
those who fattened upon us often turn round and
traduce us: Reputation is, indeed, dear to every nation
and race; but to us, the colored people of this country,
who have so many obstacles to surmount, it is doubly
dear:—
“Who steals my purse steals trash;'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;But he who filches from me my good name,Robs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.”

You know we were told by the slaveholders,
before the breaking out of the rebellion, that if we got
into any difficulty with the south, their slaves would
take up arms and fight to a man for them. Mr.
Toombs, I believe, threatened that he would arm his
slaves, and other men in Congress from the slave states
made the same threat. They were going to arm the
slaves and turn them against the north. They said
they could be trusted; and many people here at the
north really believed that the slave did not want his
liberty, would not have it if he could, and that the
slave population was a very dangerous element against
the north; but at once, on the approach of our
soldiers, the slaves are seen, with their bundles and
baskets, and hats and coats, and without bundles or
baskets, and without hats or coats, rushing to our
lines; demonstrating what we have so often said, that
all the slave was waiting for was the opportunity to get
his liberty. Why should you not have believed this?
Why should you have supposed for a moment, that,
because a man's color differs a little from yours, he is
better contented to remain a slave than you would be,
or that he has no inclination, no wish, to escape from
the thraldom that holds him so tight? What is it that
does not wish to be free?

“Go, let a cage with grates of gold,And pearly roof, the eagle hold;Let dainty viands be its fare,And give the captive tenderest care;But say, in luxury's limits pent,Find you the king of birds content?No; oft he'll sound the startling shriek,And dash the cage with angry beak:Precarious freedom's far more dearThan all the prison's pampering cheer.”

As with the eagle, so with man. He loves to look
upon the bright day and the stormy night; to gaze
upon the broad, free ocean, its eternal surging tides, its
mountain billows, and its foam-crested waves; to tread
the steep mountain side; to sail upon the placid river;
to wander along the gurgling stream ; to trace the
sunny slope, the beautiful landscape, the majestic forest,
the flowery meadow; to listen to the howling of the
winds and the music of the birds. These are the
aspirations of man, without regard to country, clime,
or color.

“What shall we do with the slave of the south?
Expatriate him,” say the haters of the negro.
Expatriate him for what? He has cleared up the swamps
of the south, and has put the soil under cultivation;
he has built up her towns, and cities, and villages; he
has enriched the north and Europe with his cotton,
and sugar, and rice; and for this you would drive him
out of the country! “What shall be done with the
slaves if they are freed?” You had better ask
“What shall we do with the slaveholders if the slaves
are freed?” The slave has shown himself better fitted
to take care of himself than the slaveholder. He is
the bone and sinew of the south; he is the producer,
while the master is nothing but a consumer, and a very
poor consumer at that. The slave is the producer,
and he alone can be relied upon. He has the sinew,
the determination, and the will; and if you will take
the free colored people of the south as the criterion,
take their past history as a sample of what the colored
people are capable of doing, every one must be
satisfied that the slaves can take care of themselves.
Some say, “Let them alone; they are well cared for,
and that is enough.”

“O, tell us not they're clothed and fed—'Tis insult, stuff, and a' that;With freedom gone, all joy is fled,For Heaven's best gift is a' that.”

But it is said, “The two races cannot live together
in a state of freedom.” Why, that is the cry that
rung all over England thirty years ago: “If you
liberate the slaves of the West Indies, they can't live
with the whites in a state of freedom.” Thirty years
have shown the contrary. The blacks and the whites
live together in Jamaica; they are all prosperous, and
the island in a better condition than it ever was before
the act of emancipation was passed.

But they tell us, “If the slaves are emancipated, we
won't receive them upon an equality.” Why, every
man must make equality for himself. No society, no
government, can make this equality. I do not expect
the slave of the south to jump into equality; all I
claim for him is, that he may be allowed to jump into
liberty, and let him make equality for himself. I have
some white neighbors around me in Cambridge; they
are not very intellectual; they don't associate with my
family; but whenever they shall improve themselves,
and bring themselves up by their own intellectual and
moral worth, I shall not object to their coming into my
society—all things being equal.

Now, this talk about not letting a man come to this
place or that, and that we won't do this for him, or
won't do that for him, is all idle. The anti-slavery
agitators have never demanded that you shall take the
colored man, any more than that you shall take the
uncultivated and uncouth white man, and place him
in a certain position in society. All I demand for the
black man is, that the white people shall take their
heels off his neck, and let him have a chance to rise
by his own efforts.

The idea of colonizing the slaves in some other
country, outside of the United States, seems the height
of folly. Whatever may be the mineral wealth of a
country, or the producing capabilities of the soil,
neither can be made available without the laborer. Four
millions of strong hands cannot be spared from the
Southern States. All time has shown that the negro
is the best laborer in the tropics.

The slaves once emancipated and left on the lands,
four millions of new consumers will spring into existence.
Heretofore, the bondmen have consumed nothing
scarcely from the north. The cost of keeping a
slave was only about nineteen dollars per annum,
including food, clothing, and doctors' bills. Negro cloth,
negro shoes, and negro whips were all that were sent
south by northern manufacturers. Let slavery be
abolished, and stores will be opened and a new trade
take place with the blacks south. Northern manufacturers
will have to run on extra time till this new
demand will have been supplied. The slave owner,
having no longer an inducement to be idle, will go to
work, and will not have time to concoct treason against
the stars and stripes. I cannot close this appeal without
a word about the free blacks in the non-slaveholding
states.

The majority of the colored people in the Northern
States descended from slaves: many of the were
slaves themselves. In education, in morals, and in
the development of mechanical genius, the free blacks
of the Northern States will compare favorably with any
laboring class in the world. And considering the fact
that we have been shut out, by a cruel prejudice, from
nearly all the mechanical branches, and all the
professions, it is marvellous that we have attained the
position we now occupy. Notwithstanding those bars,
our young men have learned trades, become artists,
gone into the professions, although bitter prejudice
may prevent their having a great deal of practice.
When it is considered that they have mostly come out
of bondage, and that their calling has been the lowest
kind in every community, it is still more strange that
the colored people have amassed so much wealth in
every state in the Union. If this is not an exhibition
of capacity, I don't understand the meaning of the
term. And if true patriotism and devotion to the
cause of freedom be tests of loyalty, and should establish
one's claim to all the privileges that the government
can confer, then surely the black man can
demand his rights with a good grace. From the fall
of Attucks, the first martyr of the American revolution
in 1770, down to the present day, the colored
people have shown themselves worthy of any
confidence that the nation can place in its citizens in the
time that tries men's souls. At the battle of Bunker
Hill, on the heights of Groton, at the ever-memorable
battle of Red Bank, the sable sons of our country stood
side by side with their white brethren. On Lakes Erie
and Champlain, on the Hudson, and down in the valley
of the Mississippi, they established their valor and
their invincibility. Whenever the rights of the nation
have been assailed, the negro has always responded to
his country's call, at once, and with every pulsation
of his heart beating for freedom. And no class of
Americans have manifested more solicitude for the
success of the federal arms in the present struggle
with rebellion, than the colored people. At the north,
they were among the earliest to respond to the
president's first proclamation, calling for troops. At the
south, they have ever shown a preference for the stars
and stripes. In his official despatch to Minister Adams,
Mr. Secretary Seward said,—

“Every where the American general receives his
most useful and reliable information from the negro,
who hails his coming as the harbinger of freedom.”

THE BLACK MAN,
HIS GENIUS AND HIS ACHIEVEMENTS.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER.

THE services rendered to science, to liberty, and to
the intellectual character of the negro by Banneker,
are too great for us to allow his name to sleep and his
genius and merits to remain hidden from the world.
BENJAMIN BANNEKER was born in the State of Maryland,
in the year 1732, of pure African parentage; their
blood never having been corrupted by the introduction
of a drop of Anglo-Saxon. His father was a slave,
and of course could do nothing towards the education
of the child. The mother, however, being free,
succeeded in purchasing the freedom of her husband,
and they, with their son, settled on a few acres of land,
where Benjamin remained during the lifetime of his
parents. His entire schooling was gained from an
obscure country school, established for the education of
the children of free negroes; and these advantages
were poor, for the boy appears to have finished studying
before be arrived at his fifteenth year. Although
out of school, Banneker was still a student, and read
with great care and attention such books as he could
get. Mr. George Ellicott, a gentleman of fortune and
considerable literary taste, and who resided near to
Benjamin, became interested in him, and lent him
books from his large library. Among these books
were Mayer's Tables, Fergusson's Astronomy, and
Leadbeater's Lunar Tables. A few old and imperfect
astronomical instruments also found their way into the
boy's hands, all of which he used with great benefit to
his own mind.

Banneker took delight in the study of the languages,
and soon mastered the Latin, Greek, and German.
He was also proficient in the French. The classics
were not neglected by him, and the general literary
knowledge which he possessed caused Mr. Ellicott to
regard him as the most learned man in the town, and
he never failed to introduce Banneker to his most
distinguished guests. About this time Benjamin turned
his attention particularly to astronomy, and determined
on making calculations for an almanac, and completed
a set for the whole year. Encouraged by this attempt,
he entered upon calculations for subsequent years,
which, as well as the former, he began and finished
without the least assistance from any person or books
than those already mentioned; so that whatever merit
is attached to his performance is exclusively his own.
He published an almanac in Philadelphia for the years
1792, '3, '4, and '5, which contained his calculations,
exhibiting the different aspects of the planets, a table
of the motions of the sun and moon, their risings and
settings, and the courses of the bodies of the planetary
system. By this time Banneker's acquirements had
become generally known, and the best scholars in
the country opened correspondence with him.
Goddard & Angell, the well-known Baltimore publishers,
engaged his pen for their establishment, and became
the publishers of his almanacs. A copy of his first
production was sent to Thomas Jefferson, together with
a letter intended to interest the great statesman in the
cause of negro emancipation and the elevation of the
race, in which he says,—

“It is a truth too well attested to need a proof here,
that we are a race of beings who have long labored
under the abuse and censure of the world; that we
have long been looked upon with an eye of contempt
and considered rather as brutish than human, and
scarcely capable of mental endowments. I hope I
may safely admit, in consequence of the report which
has reached me, that you are a man far less inflexible
in sentiments of this nature than many others; that
you are measurably friendly and well disposed towards
us, and that you are willing to lend your aid and
assistance for our relief from those many distresses and
numerous calamities to which we are reduced. If this
is founded in truth, I apprehend you will embrace
every opportunity to eradicate that train of absurd and
false ideas and opinions which so generally prevail
with respect to us, and that your sentiments are
concurrent with mine, which are, that one universal
Father hath given being to us all; that he hath not
only made us all of one flesh, but that he hath also,
without partiality, afforded us all the same sensations,
and endowed us all with the same faculties; and that,
however variable we may be in society or religion,
however diversified in situation or in color, we are all
of the same family, and stand in the same relation to
him. If these are sentiments of which you are fully
persuaded, you cannot but acknowledge that it is the
indispensable duty of those who maintain the rights of
human nature, and who profess the obligations of
Christianity, to extend their power and influence to
the relief of every part of the human race from
whatever burden or oppression they may unjustly labor
under; and this, I apprehend, a full conviction of the
truth and obligation of these principles should lead all
to. I have long been convinced that if your love for
yourselves, and for those inestimable laws which
preserved to you the rights of human nature, was founded
on sincerity, you could not but be solicitous that every
individual, of whatever rank or distinction, might with
you equally enjoy the blessings thereof; neither could
you rest satisfied short of the most active effusion of
your exertions, in order to effect their promotion from
any state of degradation to which the unjustifiable
cruelty and barbarism of men may have reduced
them.

“I freely and cheerfully acknowledge that I am one
of the African race, and in that color which is natural
to them, of the deepest dye; and it is under a sense
of the most profound gratitude to the Supreme Ruler
of the universe, that I now confess to you that I am
not under that state of tyrannical thraldom and
inhuman captivity to which too many of my brethren are
doomed; but that I have abundantly tasted of the fruition
of those blessings which proceed from that free
and unequalled liberty with which you are favored,
and which I hope you will willingly allow you have
mercifully received from the immediate hand of that
Being from whom proceedeth every good and
perfect gift.

“Your knowledge of the situation of my brethren
is too extensive to need a recital here; neither shall I
presume to prescribe methods by which they may be
relieved, otherwise than by recommending to you and
to others to wean yourselves from those narrow prejudices
which you have imbibed with respect to them,
and, as Job proposed to his friends, ‘put your soul in
their souls' stead.’ Thus shall your hearts be enlarged
with kindness and benevolence towards them; and
thus shall you need neither the direction of myself or
others in what manner to proceed herein. . . .
The calculation for this almanac is the production of
my arduous study in my advanced stage of life; for
having long had unbounded desires to become
acquainted with the secrets of nature, I have had to
gratify my curiosity herein through my own assiduous
application to astronomical study, in which I need not
recount to you the many difficulties and disadvantages
which I have had to encounter.”

Mr. Jefferson at once replied as follows:—

“PHILADELPHIA, August 30, 1791.

“SIR: I thank you sincerely for your letter and the
almanac it contained. Nobody wishes more than I do
to see such proofs as you exhibit, that nature has given
to our black brethren talents equal to those of the other
colors of men, and that the appearance of the want
of them is owing merely to the degraded condition
of their existence, both in Africa and America. I can
add with truth, that nobody wishes more ardently to
see a good system commenced for raising their
condition, both of their body and their mind, to what it
ought to be, as far as the imbecility of their present
existence, and other circumstances, which cannot be
neglected, will admit. I have taken the liberty of
sending your almanac to Monsieur de Condorcet,
secretary of the Academy of Sciences at Paris, and a
member of the Philanthropic Society, because I consider
it as a document to which your whole color have
a right for their justification against the doubts which
have been entertained of them.

The letter from Banneker, together with the
almanac, created in the heart of Mr. Jefferson a fresh
feeling of enthusiasm in behalf of freedom, and especially
for the negro, which ceased only with his life. The
American statesman wrote to Brissot, the celebrated
French writer, in which he made enthusiastic mention
of the “Negro Philosopher.” At the formation of the
“Society of the Friends of the Blacks,” at Paris, by
Lafayette, Brissot, Barnave, Condorcet, and Gregoire,
the name of Banneker was again and again referred
to to prove the equality of the races. Indeed, the
genius of the “Negro Philosopher” did much towards
giving liberty to the people of St. Domingo. In the
British House of Commons, Pitt, Wilberforce, and
Buxton often alluded to Banneker by name, as a man
fit to fill any position in society. At the setting off of
the District of Columbia for the capital of the federal
government, Banneker was invited by the Maryland
commissioners, and took an honorable part in the
settlement of the territory. But throughout all his
intercourse with men of influence, he never lost sight of
the condition of his race, and ever urged the emancipation
and elevation of the slave. He well knew that
every thing that was founded upon the admitted
inferiority of natural right in the African was calculated to
degrade him and bring him nearer to the foot of the
oppressor, and he therefore never failed to allude to
the equality of the races when with those whites whom
he could influence. He always urged self-elevation
upon the colored people whom he met. He felt that
to deprive the black man of the inspiration of
ambition, of hope, of health, of standing among his brethren
of the earth, was to take from him all incentives
to mental improvement. What husbandman incurs
the toil of seed time and culture, except with a view
to the subsequent enjoyment of a golden harvest?
Banneker was endowed by nature with all those excellent
qualifications which are necessary previous to the
accomplishment of a great man. His memory was
large and tenacious, yet, by a curious felicity chiefly
susceptible of the finest impressions it received from
the best authors he read, which he always preserved in
their primitive strength and amiable order. He had
a quickness of apprehension and a vivacity of understanding
which easily took in and surmounted the
most subtile and knotty parts of mathematics and
metaphysics. He possessed in a large degree that
genius which constitutes a man of letters; that quality
without which judgment is cold and knowledge is
inert; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies,
and animates.

He knew every branch of history, both natural and
civil, he had read all the original historians of England,
France, and Germany, and was a great
antiquarian. Criticism, metaphysics, morals, politics, voyages
and travels, were all studied and well digested by him.
With such a fund of knowledge his conversation was
equally interesting, instructive, and entertaining.
Banneker was so favorably appreciated by the first families
in Virginia, that in 1803 he was invited by Mr.
Jefferson, then President of the United States, to visit
him at Monticello, where the statesman had gone for
recreation. But he was too infirm to undertake the
journey. He died the following year, aged seventy-two.
Like the golden sun that has sunk beneath the
western horizon, but still throws upon the world, which
he sustained and enlightened in his career, the reflected
beams of his departed genius, his name can only
perish with his language.

Banneker believed in the divinity of reason, and in
the omnipotence of the human understanding with
Liberty for its handmaid. The intellect impregnated
by science and multiplied by time, it appeared to him,
must triumph necessarily over all the resistance of
matter. He had faith in liberty, truth, and virtue.
His remains still rest in the slave state where he lived
and died, with no stone to mark the spot or tell that it
is the grave of Benjamin Banneker.

He labored incessantly, lived irreproachably, and
died in the literary harness, universally esteemed and
regretted.

NAT TURNER.

BIOGRAPHY is individual history, as distinguished
from that of communities, of nations, and of worlds.
Eulogy is that deserved applause which springs from
the virtues and attaches itself to the characters of
men. This is not intended either as a biography or a
eulogy, but simply a sketch of one whose history has
hitherto been neglected, and to the memory of whom
the American people are not prepared to do justice.

On one of the oldest and largest plantations in
in Southampton county, Virginia, owned by Benjamin
Turner, Esq., Nat was born a slave, on the 2d of
October, 1800. His parents were of unmixed African
descent. Surrounded as he was by the superstition
of the slave quarters, and being taught by his mother
that he was born for a prophet, a preacher, and a
deliverer of his race, it was not strange that the child
should have imbibed the principles which were
afterwards developed in his career. Early impressed with
the belief that he had seen visions, and received
communications direct from God, he, like Napoleon,
regarded himself as a being of destiny. In his childhood
Nat was of an amiable disposition; but circumstances
in which he was placed as a slave, brought out
incidents that created a change in his disposition, and
turned his kind and docile feeling into the most
intense hatred to the white race.

Being absent one night from his master's plantation
without a pass, he was caught by Whitlock and Mull,
the two district patrolers, and severely flogged. This
act of cruelty inflamed the young slave, and he
resolved upon having revenge. Getting two of the boys
of a neighboring plantation to join him, Nat obtained
a long rope, went out at night on the road through
which the officers had their beat, and stationing his
companions, one on each side of the road, he stretched
the rope across, fastening each end to a tree, and drawing
it tight. His rope thus fixed, and his accomplices
instructed how to act their part, Nat started off up
the road. The night being dark, and the rope only six
or eight inches from the ground, the slave felt sure
that he would give his enemies a “high fall.”

Nat hearing them, he called out in a disguised voice,
“Is dat you, Jim?” To this Whitlock replied, “Yes,
dis is me.” Waiting until the white men were near
him, Nat started off upon a run, followed by the officers.
The boy had placed a sheet of white paper in the road,
so that he might know at what point to jump the rope,
so as not to be caught in his own trap. Arriving at
the signal he sprung over the rope, and went down the
road like an antelope. But not so with the white men,
for both were caught by the legs and thrown so hard
upon the ground that Mull had his shoulder put out
of joint, and his face terribly lacerated by the fall;
while Whitlock's left wrist was broken, and his head
bruised in a shocking manner. Nat hastened home,
while his companions did the same, not forgetting to
take with them the clothes line which had been so
serviceable in the conflict. The patrolers were left on
the field of battle, crying, swearing, and calling for
help.

Snow seldom falls as far south as the southern part
of Virginia; but when it does, the boys usually have a
good time snow-balling, and on such occasions the
slaves, old and young, women and men, are generally
pelted without mercy, and with no right to retaliate.
It was only a few months after his affair with the
patrolers, that Nat was attacked by a gang of boys, who
chased him some distance, snow-balling with all their
power. The slave boy knew the lads, and determined
upon revenge. Waiting till night, he filled his pockets
with rocks, and went into the street. Very soon the
same gang of boys were at his heels, and pelting him.
Concealing his face so as not to be known, Nat
discharged his rocks in every direction, until his enemies
had all taken to their heels.

The ill treatment he experienced at the hands of
the whites, and the visions be claimed to have seen,
caused Nat to avoid, as far as he could, all intercourse
with his follow-slaves, and threw around him a gloom
and melancholy that disappeared only with his life.

Both the young slave and his friends averred that
a full knowledge of the alphabet came to him in a
single night. Impressed with the belief that his
mission was a religious one, and this impression strengthened
by the advice of his grandmother, a pious but
ignorant woman, Nat commenced preaching when
about twenty-five of age, but never went beyond his
own master's locality. In stature he was under the
middle size, long armed, round-shouldered, and strongly
marked with the African features. A gloomy fire
burned in his looks, and he had a melancholy expression
of countenance. He never tasted a drop of ardent
spirits all his life, and was never known to smile. In
the year 1828 new visions appeared to Nat, and he
claimed to have direct communication with God.
Unlike most of those born under the influence of
slavery, he had no faith in conjuring, fortune-telling,
or dreams, and always spoke with contempt of such
things. Being hired out to cruel masters, he ran away,
and remained in the woods thirty days, and could have
easily escaped to the free states, as did his father some
years before; but he received, as he says in his
confession a communication from the spirit, which said,
“Return to your earthly master, for he who knoweth
his Master's will, and doeth it not, shall be beaten with
many stripes.” It was not the will of his earthly, but
his heavenly Master that he felt bound to do, and
therefore Nat returned. His follow-slaves were greatly
incensed at him for coming back, for they knew well
his ability to reach Canada, or some other land of freedom,
if he was so inclined. He says further, “About
this time I had a vision, and saw white spirits and
black spirits engaged in battle, and the sun was
darkened, the thunder rolled in the heavens, and blood
flowed in streams; and I heard a voice saying, ‘Such
is your luck; such are you called on to see; and let it
come, rough or smooth, you must surely bear it.’”
Some time after this, Nat had, as he says, another
vision, in which the spirit appeared and said, “The
serpent is loosened, and Christ has laid down the yoke
he has borne for the sins of men, and you must take
it up, and fight against the serpent, for the time is fast
approaching when the first shall be last, and the last
shall be first.” There is no doubt but that this last
sentence filled Nat with enthusiastic feeling in favor
of the liberty of his race, that he had so long dreamed
of. “The last shall be first, and the first shall be
last,” seemed to him to mean something. He saw in
it the overthrow of the whites, and the establishing
of the blacks in their stead, and to this end he bent
the energies of his mind. In February, 1831, Nat
received his last communication, and beheld his last
vision. He said, “I was told I should arise and
prepare myself, and slay my enemies with their own
weapons.”

The plan of an insurrection was now formed in his
own mind, and the time had arrived for him to take
others into the secret; and he at once communicated
his ideas to four of his friends, in whom he had
implicit confidence. Hark Travis, Nelson Williams, Sam
Edwards, and Henry Porter were slaves like himself,
and like him had taken their names from their masters.
A meeting must be held with these, and it must take
place in some secluded place, where the whites would
not disturb them; and a meeting was appointed. The
spot where they assembled was as wild and romantic
as were the visions that had been impressed upon the
mind of their leader.

Three miles from where Nat lived was a dark swamp
filled with reptiles, in the middle of which was a dry
spot, reached by a narrow, winding path, and upon
which human feet seldom trod, on account of its
having been the place where a slave had been tortured
to death by a slow fire, for the crime of having flogged
his cruel and inhuman master. The night for the
meeting arrived, and they came together. Hank
brought a pig; Sam, bread; Nelson, sweet potatoes;
and Henry, brandy; and the gathering was turned
into a feast. Others were taken in, and joined the
conspiracy. All partook heartily of the food and
drank freely, except Nat. He fasted and prayed. It
was agreed that the revolt should commence that night,
and in their own master's households, and that each
slave should give his oppressor the death blow.
Before they left the swamp Nat made a speech, in which
he said, “Friends and brothers: We are to commence
a great work tonight. Our race is to be delivered
from slavery, and God has appointed us as the men to
do his bidding, and let us be worthy of our calling.
I am told to slay all the whites we encounter, without
regard to age or sex. We have no arms or ammunition,
but we will find these in the houses of our
oppressors, and as we go on others can join us.
Remember that we do not go forth for the sake of blood
and carnage, but it is necessary that in the commencement
of this revolution all the whites we meet should
die, until we shall have an army strong enough to
carry on the war upon a Christian basis. Remember
that ours is not a war for robbery and to satisfy our
passions; it is a struggle for freedom. Ours must be
deeds, and not words. Then let's away to the scene
of action.”

Among those who had joined the conspirators was
Will, a slave, who scorned the idea of taking his
master's name. Though his soul longed to be free, he
evidently became one of the party, as much to satisfy
revenge, as for the liberty that he saw in the dim
distance. Will had seen a dear and beloved wife sold to
the negro trader and taken away, never to be beheld
by him again in this life. His own back was covered
with scars, from his shoulders to his feet. A large sear,
running from his right eye down to his chin, showed
that he had lived with a cruel master. Nearly six feet
in height, and one of the strongest and most athletic
of his race, he proved to be the most unfeeling of all
the insurrectionists. His only weapon was a broad-
axe, sharp and heavy.

Nat and his accomplices at once started for the
plantation of Joseph Travis, with whom the four lived,
and there the first blow was struck. In his confession,
just before his execution, Nat said,—

“On returning to the house, Hark went to the door
with an axe, for the purpose of breaking it open, as
we knew we were strong enough to murder the family
should they be awakened by the noise; but reflecting
that it might create an alarm in the neighborhood, we
determined to enter the house secretly, and murder
them whilst sleeping. Hark got a ladder and set it
against the chimney, on which I ascended, and hoisting
a window, entered and came down stairs, unbarred
the doors, and removed the guns from their places.
It was then observed that I must spill the first blood.
On which, armed with a hatchet, and accompanied by
Will, I entered my master's chamber. It being dark,
I could not give a death blow. The hatchet glanced
from his head; he sprang from the bed and called his
wife. It was his last word; Will laid him dead with
a blow of his axe, and Mrs. Travis shared the same
fate, as she lay in bed. The murder of this family,
five in number, was the work of a moment; not one
of them awoke. There was a little infant sleeping in
a cradle, that was forgotten until we had left the house
and gone some distance, when Henry and Will
returned and killed it. We got here four guns that
would shoot, and several old muskets, with a pound
or two of powder. We remained for some time at the
barn, where we paraded; I formed them in line as
soldiers, and after carrying them through all the
manœuvres I was master of, marched them off to Mr.
Salathiel Francis's, about six hundred yards distant.

“Sam and Will went to the door and knocked.
Mr. Francis asked who was there; Sam replied it was
he, and he had a letter for him; on this he got up
and came to the door; they immediately seized him
and dragging him out a little from the door, he was
despatched by repeated blows on the head. There was
no other white person in the family. We started from
there to Mrs. Reese's, maintaining the most perfect
silence on our march, where, finding the door
unlocked, we entered and murdered Mrs. Reese in her
bed while sleeping; her son awoke, but only to sleep
the sleep of death; he had only time to say, ‘Who is
that?’ and he was no more. From Mrs. Reese's we
went to Mrs. Turner's, a mile distant, which we
reached about sunrise, on Monday morning. Henry,
Austin, and Sam, went to the still, where, finding Mr.
Peebles, Austin shot him; the rest of us went to the
house. As we approached, the family discovered us
and shut the door. Vain hope! Will, with one
stroke of his axe, opened it, and we entered, and found
Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Newsome in the middle of a
room, almost frightened to death. Will immediately
killed Mrs. Turner with one blow of his axe. I took
Mrs. Newsome by the hand, and with the sword I had
when apprehended, I struck her several blows over the
head, but was not able to kill her, as the sword was
dull. Will, turning round and discovering it,
despatched her also. A general destruction of property,
and search for money and ammunition, always
succeeded the murders.

“By this time, my company amounted to fifteen,
nine men mounted, who started for Mrs. Whitehead's,
(the other six were to go through a by-way to Mr.
Bryant's, and rejoin us at Mrs. Whitehead's.) As we
approached the house we discovered Mr. Richard
Whitehead standing in the cotton patch, near the lane
fence; we called him over into the lane, and Will, the
executioner, was near at hand, with his fatal axe, to send
him to an untimely grave. As we pushed on to the
house, I discovered some one running round the
garden, and thinking it was some of the white family, I
pursued, but finding it was a servant girl belonging to
the house, I returned to commence the work of death;
but they whom I left had not been idle: all the family
were already murdered but Mrs. Whitehead and her
daughter Margaret. As I came round to the door I
saw Will pulling Mrs. Whitehead out of the house,
and at the step he nearly severed her head from her
body with his broadaxe. Miss Margaret, when I
discovered her, had concealed herself in the corner
formed by the projection of the cellar cap from the
house; on my approach she fled, but was soon overtaken,
and after repeated blows with a sword, I killed
her by a blow over the head with a fence rail. By
this time the six who had gone by Mr. Bryant's
rejoined us, and informed me they had done the work
of death assigned them. We again divided, part
going to Mr. Richard Porter's, and from thence to
Nathaniel Francis's, the others to Mr. Howell Harris's
and Mr. T. Doyles's. On my reaching Mr. Porter's,
he had escaped with his family. I understood there
that the alarm had already spread, and I immediately
returned to bring up those sent to Mr. Doyles's and Mr.
Howell Harris's; the party I left going on to Mr.
Francis's, having told them I would join them in that
neighborhood. I met those sent to Mr. Doyles's and
Mr. Howell Harris's returning, having met Mr. Doyles
on the road and killed him. Learning from some who
joined them, that Mr. Harris was from home, I immediately
pursued the course taken by the party gone on
before; but knowing that they would complete the
work of death and pillage at Mr. Francis's before I
could get there, I went to Mr. Peter Edwards's,
expecting to find them there; but they had been there
already. I then went to Mr. John T. Barrow's; they
had been there and murdered him. I pursued on their
track to Captain Newitt Harris's. I found the greater
part mounted and ready to start; the men, now
amounting to about forty, shouted and hurrahed as I
rode up; some were in the yard loading their guns,
others drinking. They said Captain Harris and his
family had escaped; the property in the house they
destroyed, robbing him of money and other valuables.
I ordered them to mount and march instantly; this
was about nine or ten o'clock, Monday morning. I
proceeded to Mr. Levi Waller's, two or three miles
distant. I took my station in the rear, and as it was
my object to carry terror and devastation wherever we
went, I placed fifteen or twenty of the best mounted
and most to be relied on in front, who generally
approached the houses as fast as their horses could run;
this was for two purposes, to prevent their escape and
strike terror to the inhabitants—on this account I
never got to the houses, after leaving Mrs. Whitehead's,
until the murders were committed, except in
one case. I sometimes got in sight in time to see the
work of death completed, viewed the mangled bodies
as they lay, in silent satisfaction, and immediately
started in quest of other victims. Having murdered
Mrs. Waller and ten children, we started for Mr.
William Williams's. We killed him and two little
boys that were there: while engaged in this, Mrs.
Williams fled, and got some distance from the house,
but she was pursued, overtaken, and compelled to get
up behind one of the company, who brought her back,
and after showing her the mangled body of her lifeless
husband, she was told to get down and lie by his
side, where she was shot dead. I then started for Mr.
Jacob Williams's, where the family were murdered.
Here we found a young man named Drury, who had
come on business with Mr. Williams; he was pursued,
overtaken, and shot. Mrs. Vaughan's was the
next place we visited; and after murdering the family
here, I determined on starting for Jerusalem. Our
number amounted now to fifty or sixty, all mounted and
armed with guns, axes, swords, and clubs. On reaching
Mr. James W. Parker's gate, immediately on the
road leading to Jerusalem, and about three miles
distant, it was proposed to me to call there; but I objected,
as I knew he was gone to Jerusalem, and my object
was to reach there as soon as possible; but some of
the men having relations at Mr. Parker's, it was agreed
that they might call and get his people. I remained
at the gate on the road, with seven or eight, the others
going across the field to the house, about half a mile
off. After waiting some time for them, I became
impatient, and started to the house for them, and on our
return we were met by a party of white men, who had
pursued our blood-stained track, and who had fired on
those at the gate, and dispersed them, which I knew
nothing of, not having been at that time rejoined by
any of them. Immediately on discovering the whites,
I ordered my men to halt and form, as they appeared
to be alarmed. The white men, eighteen in number,
approached us in about one hundred yards, when one
of them fired, and I discovered about half of them,
retreating. I then ordered my men to fire and rush
on them ; the few remaining stood their ground until
we approached within fifty yards, when they fired and
retreated. We pursued and overtook some of them,
whom we thought we left dead; after pursuing them
about two hundred yards, and rising a little hill, I
discovered they were met by another party, and had
halted, and were reloading their guns, thinking that
those who retreated first, and the party who fired on
us at fifty or sixty yards distant, had only fallen back
to meet others with ammunition. As I saw them
reloading their guns, and more coming up than I saw at
first, and several of my bravest men being wounded,
the others became panic-struck and scattered over the
field; the white men pursued and fired on us several
times. Hark had his horse shot under him, and I
caught another for him that was running by me; five
or six of my men were wounded, but none left on the
field. Finding myself defeated here, I instantly
determined to go through a private way, and cross the
Nottoway River at the Cypress Bridge, three miles
below Jerusalem, and attack that place in the rear, as I
expected they would look for me on the other road,
and I had a great desire to get there to procure arms
and ammunition.”

Reënforcements came to the whites, and the blacks
were overpowered and defeated by the superior numbers
of their enemy. In this battle many were slain
on both sides. Will, the bloodthirsty and revengeful
slave, fell with his broadaxe uplifted, after having laid
three of the whites dead at his feet with his own
strong arm and his terrible weapon. His last words
were, “Bury my axe with me.” For he religiously
believed that in the next world the blacks would have
a contest with the whites, and that he would need his
axe. Nat Turner, after fighting to the last with his
short sword, escaped with some others to the woods
near by, and was not captured for nearly two months.
When brought to trial he pleaded “not guilty;”
feeling, as he said, that it was always right for one to
strike for his own liberty. After going through a
mere form of trial, he was convicted and executed at
Jerusalem, the county seat for Southampton county,
Virginia. Not a limb trembled or a muscle was
observed to move. Thus died Nat Turner, at the early
age of thirty-one years—a martyr to the freedom of
his race, and a victim to his own fanaticism. He
meditated upon the wrongs of his oppressed and
injured people, till the idea of their deliverance excluded
all other ideas from his mind, and he devoted his life
to its realization. Every thing appeared to him a
vision, and all favorable omens were signs from God.
That he was sincere in all that he professed, there is
not the slightest doubt. After being defeated he might
have escaped to the free states, but the hope of raising
a new band kept him from doing so.

He impressed his image upon the minds of those
who once beheld him. His looks, his sermons, his
acts, and his heroism live in the hearts of his race, on
every cotton, sugar, and rice plantation at the south.
The present generation of slaves have a superstitious
veneration for his name, and believe that in another
insurrection Nat Turner will appear and take command.
He foretold that at his death the sun would
refuse to shine, and that there would be signs of disapprobation
given from heaven. And it is true that the
sun was darkened, a storm gathered, and more boisterous
weather had never appeared in Southampton
county than on the day of Nat's execution. The
sheriff, warned by the prisoner, refused to cut the cord
that held the trap. No black man would touch the
rope. A poor old white man, long besotted by drink,
was brought forty miles to be the executioner. And
even the planters, with all their prejudice and hatred,
believed him honest and sincere; for Mr. Gray, who
had known Nat from boyhood, and to whom he made
his confession, says of him,—

“It has been said that he was ignorant and cowardly,
and that his object was to murder and rob, for the
purpose of obtaining money to make his escape. It is
notorious that he was never known to have a dollar
in his life, to swear an oath, or drink a drop of spirits.
As to his ignorance, he certainly never had the
advantages of education; but he can read and write,
and for natural intelligence and quickness of apprehension,
is surpassed by few men I have ever seen.
As to his being a coward, his reason, as given, for not
resisting Mr. Phipps, shows the decision of his character.
When he saw Mr. Phipps present his gun, he
said he knew it was impossible for him to escape, as
the woods were full of men; he therefore thought it
was better for him to surrender, and trust to fortune
for his escape. He is a complete fanatic, or plays his
part most admirably. On other subjects he possesses
an uncommon share of intelligence, with a mind capable
of attaining any thing, but warped and perverted
by the influence of early impressions. He is below
the ordinary stature, though strong and active; having
the true negro face, every feature of which is strongly
marked. I shall not attempt to describe the effect of
his narrative, as told and commented on by himself,
in the condemned hole of the prison; the calm, deliberate
composure with which he spoke of his late deeds
and intentions; the expressions of his fiend-like face,
when excited by enthusiasm—still bearing the stains
of the blood of helpless innocence about him, clothed
with rags and covered with chains, yet daring to raise
his manacled hands to heaven, with a spirit soaring
above the attributes of man; I looked on him, and
the blood curdled in my veins.”

Well might he feel the blood curdle in his veins,
when he remembered that in every southern household
there may be a Nat Turner, in whose soul God
has lighted a torch of liberty that cannot be extinguished
by the hand of man. The slaveholder should
understand that he lives upon a volcano, which may
burst forth at any moment, and give freedom to his
victim.

“Great God, hasten on the glad jubilee,When my brother in bonds shall arise and be free,And our blotted escutcheon be washed from its stains,Now the scorn of the world—four millions in chains!O, then shall Columbia's proud flag be unfurled,The glory of freemen, and pride of the world,While earth's strolling millions point hither in glee,‘To the land of the brave and the home of the free!’”

Fifty-five whites and seventy-three blacks lost their
lives in the Southampton rebellion. On the fatal
night when Nat and his companions were dealing
death to all they found, Captain Harris, a wealthy
planter, had his life saved by the devotion and timely
warning of his slave Jim, said to have been half-brother
to his master. After the revolt had been put
down, and parties of whites were out hunting the
suspected blacks, Captain Harris, with his faithful slave,
went into the woods in search of the negroes. In
saving his master's life, Jim felt that he had done his
duty, and could not consent to become a betrayer of
his race, and, on reaching the woods, he handed his
pistol to his master, and said, “I cannot help you hunt
down these men; they, like myself, want to be free.
Sir, I am tired of the life of a slave; please give me
my freedom, or shoot me on the spot.” Captain Harris
took the weapon and pointed it at the slave. Jim,
putting his right hand upon his heart, said, “This is
the spot; aim here.” The captain fired, and the slave
fell dead at his foot.

From this insurrection, and other manifestations of
insubordination by the slave population, the southern
people, if they are wise, should learn a grave lesson;
for the experience of the past might give them some
clew to the future.

Thirty years' free discussion has materially changed
public opinion in the non-slaveholding states, and a
negro insurrection, in the present excited state of the
nation, would not receive the condemnation that it did
in 1831. The right of man to the enjoyment of
freedom is a settled point; and where he is deprived of
this, without any criminal act of his own, it is his duty
to regain his liberty at every cost.

If the oppressor is struck down in the contest, his
fall will be a just one, and all the world will applaud
the act.

This is a new era, and we are in the midst of the
most important crisis that our country has yet
witnessed. And in the crisis the negro is an important
item. Every eye is now turned towards the south,
looking for another Nat Turner.

MADISON WASHINGTON.

AMONG the great number of fugitive slaves who
arrived in Canada towards the close of the year 1840,
was one whose tall figure, firm step, and piercing eye
attracted at once the attention of all who beheld him.
Nature had treated him as a favorite. His expressive
countenance painted and reflected every emotion of
his soul. There was a fascination in the gaze of his
finely-cut eyes that no one could withstand. Born of
African parentage, with no mixture in his blood, he
was one of the handsomest of his race. His dignified,
calm, and unaffected features announced at a glance
that he was one endowed with genius, and created to
guide his follow-men. He called himself Madison
Washington, and said that his birthplace was in the
“Old Dominion.” He might have seen twenty-five
years; but very few slaves have any correct idea of
their age. Madison was not poorly dressed, and had
some money at the end of his journey, which showed
that he was not from among the worst used slaves
of the south. He immediately sought employment at
a neighboring farm, where be remained some months.
A strong, able-bodied man, and a good worker, and
apparently satisfied with his situation, his employer
felt that he had a servant who would stay with him
long while. The farmer would occasionally raise a
conversation, and try to draw from Madison some
account of his former life; but in this he failed, for the
fugitive was a man of few words, and kept his own
secrets. His leisure hours were spent in learning to
read and write, and in this he seemed to take the
utmost interest. He appeared to take no interest in the
sports and amusements that occupied the attention of
others. Six months had not passed ere Madison began
to show signs of discontent. In vain his employer
tried to discover the cause.

“Do I not pay you enough, and treat you in a
becoming manner?” asked Mr. Dickson one day when
the fugitive seemed in a very desponding mood.

“Yes, sir,” replied Madison.

“Then why do you appear so much dissatisfied, of
late?”

“Well, sir,” said the fugitive, “since you have
treated me with such kindness, and seem to take so
much interest in me, I will tell you the reason why I
have changed, and appear to you to be dissatisfied. I
was born in slavery, in the State of Virginia. From
my earliest recollections I hated slavery and determined
to be free. I have never yet called any man master,
though I have been held by three different men who
claimed me as their property. The birds in the trees
and the wild beasts of the forest made me feel that I,
like them, ought to be free. My feelings were all thus
centred in the one idea of liberty, of which I thought
by day and dreamed by night. I had scarcely reached
my twentieth year when I became acquainted with the
angelic being who has since become my wife. It was
my intention to have escaped with her before we were
married, but circumstances prevented.

“I took her to my bosom as my wife, and then
resolved to make the attempt. But unfortunately my
plans were discovered, and to save myself from being
caught and sold off to the far south I escaped to the
woods, where I remained during many weary months.
As I could not bring my wife away, I would not come
without her. Another reason for remaining was, that
I hoped to got up an insurrection of the slaves, and
thereby be the means of their liberation. In this, too,
I failed. At last it was agreed between my wife and
me that I should escape to Canada, get employment,
save my money, and with it purchase her freedom.
With the hope of attaining this end I came into your
service. I am now satisfied that, with the wages I can
command here, it will take me not less than five years
to obtain by my labor the amount sufficient to
purchase the liberty of my dear Susan. Five years will
be too long for me to wait, for she may die or be sold
away ere I can raise the money. This, sir, makes me
feel low-spirited, and I have come to the rash
determination to return to Virginia for my wife.”

The recital of the story had already brought tears
to the eyes of the farmer, ere the fugitive had
concluded. In vain did Mr. Dickson try to persuade
Madison to give up the idea of going back into the
very grasp of the tyrant, and risking the loss of his
own freedom without securing that of his wife. The
heroic man had made up his mind, and nothing could
move him. Receiving the amount of wages due him
from his employer, Madison turned his face once more
towards the south. Supplied with papers purporting
to have been made out in Virginia, and certifying to
his being a freeman, the fugitive had no difficulty in
reaching the neighborhood of his wife. But these
“free papers” were only calculated to serve him
where he was not known. Madison had also provided
himself with files, saws, and other implements with
which to cut his way out of any prison into which he
might be cast. These instruments were so small as to
be easily concealed in the lining of his clothing; and
armed with them the fugitive felt sure he should
escape again were he ever captured. On his return,
Madison met, in the State of Ohio, many of those
whom he had seen on his journey to Canada, and all
tried to prevail upon him to give up the rash attempt.
But to every one he would reply, “Liberty is worth
nothing to me while my wife is a slave.” When near
his former home, and unable to travel in open day
without being detected, Madison betook himself to
the woods during the day, and travelled by night. At
last he arrived at the old farm at night, and hid away
in the nearest forest. Here he remained several days,
filled with hope and fear, without being able to obtain
any information about his wife. One evening, during
this suspense, Madison heard the singing of a company
of slaves, the sound of which appeared nearer and
nearer, until be became convinced that it was a gang
going to a corn-shucking, and the fugitive resolved
that he would join it, and see if he could get any intelligence
of his wife.

In Virginia, as well as in most of the other corn-raising
slave states, there is a custom of having what
is termed “a corn-shucking,” to which slaves from the
neighboring plantations, with the consent of their
masters, are invited. At the conclusion of the shucking
a supper is provided by the owner of the corn;
together with the bad whiskey which is freely
circulated on such occasions, the slaves are made to
feel very happy. Four or five companies of men may
be heard in different directions and at the same time
approaching the place of rendezvous, slaves joining
the gangs along the roads as they pass their masters'
farms. Madison came out upon the highway, and as
the company came along singing, he fell into the ranks
and joined in the song. Through the darkness of the
night he was able to keep from being recognized by
the remainder of the company,, while he learned from
the general conversation the most important news of
the day.

Although hungry and thirsty, the fugitive dared not
go to the supper table for fear of recognition. However,
before he left the company that night, he gained
information enough to satisfy him that his wife was still
with her old master, and he hoped to see her, if possible,
on the following night. The sun had scarcely set
the next evening, ere Madison was wending his way
out of the forest and going towards the home of his
loved one, if the slave can be said to have a home.
Susan, the object of his affections, was indeed a woman
every way worthy of his love. Madison knew well
where to find the room usually occupied by his wife,
and to that spot he made his way on arriving at the
plantation. But in his zeal and enthusiasm, and his
being too confident of success, he committed a blunder
which nearly cost him his life. Fearful that if he
waited until a late hour Susan would be asleep, and in
awakening her she would in her fright alarm the household,
Madison ventured to her room too early in the
evening, before the whites in the “great house” had
retired. Observed by the overseer, a sufficient number
of whites were called in, and the fugitive secured
ere he could escape with his wife; but the heroic slave
did not yield until he with a club had laid three of his
assailants upon the ground with his manly blows; and
not then until weakened by loss of blood. Madison
was at once taken to Richmond, and sold to a slave
trader, then making up a gang of slaves for the New
Orleans market.

The brig Creole, owned by Johnson & Eperson, of
Richmond, and commanded by Captain Enson, lay at
the Richmond dock waiting for her cargo, which
usually consisted of tobacco, hemp, flax, and slaves.
There were two cabins for the slaves, one for the men,
the other for the women. The men were generally
kept in chains while on the voyage; but the women
were usually unchained, and allowed to roam at pleasure
in their own cabin. On the 27th of October, 1841,
the Creole sailed from Hampton Roads, bound for
New Orleans, with her full load of freight, one
hundred and thirty-five slaves, and three passengers,
besides the crew. Forty of the slaves were owned by
Thomas McCargo, nine belonged to Henry Hewell,
and the remainder were held by Johnson & Eperson.
Howell had once been all overseer for McCargo, and
on this occasion was acting as his agent.

Among the slaves owned by Johnson & Eperson
was Madison Washington. He was heavily ironed,
and chained down to the floor of the cabin occupied
by the men, which was in the forward hold. As it was
known by Madison's purchasers that he had once
escaped and had been in Canada, they kept a watchful
eye over him. The two cabins were separated, so that
the men and women had no communication whatever
during the passage.

Although rather gloomy at times, Madison on this
occasion seemed very cheerful, and his owners thought
that he had repented of the experience he had undergone
as a runaway, and in the future would prove a
more easily governed chattel. But from the first hour
that he had entered the cabin of the Creole, Madison
had been busily engaged in the selection of men who
were to act parts in the great drama. He picked out
each one as if by intuition. Every thing was done at
night and in the dark, as far as the preparation was
concerned. The miniature saws and files were faithfully
used when the whites were asleep.

In the other cabin, among the slave women, was one
whose beauty at once attracted attention. Though not
tall, she yet had a majestic figure. Her well-moulded
shoulders, prominent bust, black hair which hung in
ringlets, mild blue eyes, finely-chiselled month, with a
splendid set of teeth, a turned and well-rounded chin,
skin marbled with the animation of life, and veined by
blood given to her by her master, she stood as the
representative of two races. With only one eighth of
African, she was what is called at the south an “octoroon.”
It was said that her grandfather had served
his country in the revolutionary war, as well as in both
houses of Congress. This was Susan, the wife of
Madison. Few slaves, even among the best used
house servants, had so good an opportunity to gain
general information as she. Accustomed to travel
with her mistress, Susan had often been to Richmond,
Norfolk, White Sulphur Springs, and other places of
resort for the aristocracy of the Old Dominion. Her
language was far more correct than most slaves in her
position. Susan was as devoted to Madison, as she was
beautiful and accomplished.

After the arrest of her husband, and his confinement
in Richmond jail, it was suspected that Susan
had long been in possession of the knowledge of his
whereabouts when in Canada, and knew of his being
in the neighborhood; and for this crime it was resolved
that she should be sold and sent off to a southern
plantation, where all hope of escape would be at an
end. Each was not aware that the other was on board
the Creole, for Madison and Susan were taken to their
respective cabins at different times. On the ninth
day out, the Creole encountered a rough sea, and
most of the slaves were sick, and therefore were not
watched with that vigilance that they had been since
she first sailed. This was the time for Madison and
his accomplices to work, and nobly did they perform
their duty. Night came on; the first watch had just
been summoned, the wind blowing high, when
Madison succeeded in reaching the quarter deck, followed
by eighteen others, all of whom sprang to different
parts of the vessel, seizing whatever they could wield
as weapons. The crew were nearly all on deck.
Captain Enson and Mr. Merritt, the first mate, were standing
together, while Howell was seated on the
companion smoking a cigar. The appearance of the
slaves all at once, and the loud voice and commanding
attitude of their leader, so completely surprised
the whites, that—
“They spake not a word;But, like dumb statues, or breathless stones,Stared at each other, and looked deadly pale.”
The officers were all armed; but so swift were the
motions of Madison that they had nearly lost
command of the vessel before they attempted to use their
weapons.

Hewell, the greater part of whose life had been
spent on the plantation in the capacity of a negro-driver,
and who knew that the defiant looks of these
men meant something, was the first to start. Drawing
his old horse pistol from under his coat, he fired
at one of the blacks and killed him. The next
moment Hewell lay dead upon the deck, for Madison had
struck him with a capstan bar. The fight now
became general, the white passengers, as well as all the
crew, taking part. The battle was Madison's element,
and he plunged into it without any care for his own
preservation or safety. He was an instrument of
enthusiasm, whose value and whose place was in his
inspiration. “If the fire of heaven was in my hands,
I would throw it at these cowardly whites,” said he to
his companions, before leaving their cabin. But in
this he did not mean revenge, only the possession of
his freedom and that of his fellow-slaves. Merritt and
Gifford, the first and second mates of the vessel, both
attacked the heroic slave at the same time. Both
were stretched out upon the deck with a single blow
each, but were merely wounded; they were disabled,
and that was all that Madison cared for for the time
being. The sailors ran up the rigging for safety, and
a moment more he that had worn the fetters an hour
before was master of the brig Creole. His commanding
attitude and daring orders, now that he was free
and his perfect preparation for the grand alternative
of liberty or death which stood before him, are
splendid exemplifications of the truly heroic. After his
accomplices had covered the slaver's deck, Madison
forbade the shedding of more blood, and ordered the
sailors to come down, which they did, and with his own
hands he dressed their wounds. A guard was placed
over all except Merritt, who was retained to navigate
the vessel. With a musket doubly charged, and
pointed at Merritt's breast, the slave made him swear
that he would faithfully take the brig into a British
port. All things now secure, and the white men in
chains or under guard, Madison ordered that the
fetters should be severed from the limbs of those slaves
who still wore them. The next morning “Captain
Washington” (for such was the name he now bore)
ordered the cook to provide the best breakfast that the
store room could furnish, intending to surprise his
fellow-slaves, and especially the females, whom he had
not yet seen. But little did he think that the woman
for whom he had risked his liberty and life would
meet him at the breakfast table. The meeting of the
hero and his beautiful and accomplished wife, the
tears of joy shed, and the hurrahs that followed from
the men, can better be imagined than described.
Madison's cup of joy was filled to the brim. He had
not only gained his own liberty and that of one
hundred and thirty-four others, but his dear Susan was
safe. Only one man, Hewell, had been killed. Captain
Enson and others, who were wounded, soon
recovered; and were kindly treated by Madison; but they
nevertheless proved ungrateful; for on the second
night, Captain Enson, Mr. Gifford, and Merritt took
advantage of the absence of Madison from the deck,
and attempted to retake the vessel. The slaves, exasperated
at this treachery, fell upon the whites with
deadly weapons. The captain and his men fled to the
cabin, pursued by the blacks. Nothing but the heroism
of the negro leader saved the lives of the white
men on this occasion, for as the slaves were rushing
into the cabin, Madison threw himself between them
and their victims, exclaiming, “Stop! no more blood.
My life, that was perilled for your liberty, I will lay
down for the protection of these men. They have
proved themselves unworthy of life, which we granted
them; still let us be magnanimous.” By the kind
heart and noble bearing of Madison, the vile
slave-traders were again permitted to go unwhipped of
justice. This act of humanity raised the uncouth son
of Africa far above his Anglo-Saxon oppressors.

The next morning the Creole landed at Nassau,
New Providence, where the noble and heroic slaves
were warmly greeted by the inhabitants, who at once
offered protection, and extended their hospitality to
them. Not many months since, an American ship
went ashore at Nassau, and among the first to render
assistance to the crew was Madison Washington.

HENRY BIBB.

HENRY BIBB, like most fugitive slaves, did not know
who his father was; that his mother was a slave was
sufficient to decide his lot, and to send him, under fear
of the lash, while yet a mere infant, to labor on his
master's farm: when sufficiently old to be of much
use to any one, he was hired out to one person and
another for the space of eight or ten years, the
proceeds of his labor going, we are told, to defray the
expense of educating his owner's daughters. The
year of Henry Bibb's birth was a memorable one—
1815; little, however, knew he of European struggles;
he had a great battle of his own to fight against
tremendous odds, and he seems to have fought it
bravely. He formed the determination to be free at a
very early age, and nothing could shake it; starvation,
imprisonment, scourging, lacerating, punishments
of every kind, and of every degree of severity short
of actual death, were tried in vain; they could not
subdue his indomitable spirit.

His first attempt to escape was made when he was
about ten years of age, and from that time to 1840 his
life was a constant series of flights and recaptures, the
narrative of which makes one thrill and shudder at
the sufferings endured and the barbarities inflicted.
Securing his freedom by his own good legs, Henry
Bibb at once began seeking an education; and in this
he succeeded far beyond many white men who have
had all the avenues to learning open to them. In
personal appearance he was tall and slim, a pleasing
countenance, half white, hair brown, eyes gray, and
possessed a musical voice, and a wonderful power of
delivery. No one who heard Mr. Bibb, in the years
1847, '8, and '9, can forget the deep impression that
he left behind him. His natural eloquence and his
songs enchained an audience as long as the speaker
wanted them. In 1849, we believe, he went to Canada,
and started a weekly paper called The Voice of
the Fugitives, at Windsor. His journal was well
conducted, and was long regarded as indispensable in
every fugitive's house. His first wife being left in
slavery, and no hope of her escaping, Mr. Bibb
married for his second wife the well-educated and
highly-cultivated Mary E. Miles, of Boston. After being in
Canada a while, the two opened a school for their
escaped brothers and sisters, which proved a lasting
benefit to that much-injured class. His efforts to purchase
a tract of land, and to deal it out in lots to the
fugitives at a reasonable price, was only one of the many
kind acts of this good man. There are few characters
more worthy of the student's study and imitation
than that of Henry Bibb. From all ignorant slave, he
became all educated free man, by his own powers, and
left a name that will not soon fade away.

In one of Cassimir de la Vigne's dramas, we met
with an expression which struck us forcibly. It was
said of Don John, who was ignorant of his birth, that
perhaps he was a nobody; to which he replied, “That
a man of good character and honorable conduct could
never be a nobody.” We consider this an admirable
reply, and have endeavored to prove this truth by the
foregoing example. If it is gratifying and noble to
boar with honor the name of one's father, it is surely
more noble to make a name for one's self; and our
heart tells us that among our young readers there is
more than one who will exclaim with ardor, and
with a firm resolution to fulfil his promise, I, too,
shall make a name.

PLACIDO.

IN the year 1830, there was a young man in
Havana, son of a woman who had been brought, when
a child, from the coast of Africa, and sold as a slave.
Being with a comparatively kind master, he soon found
opportunity to begin developing the genius which at a
later period showed itself. The young slave was called
Placido. He took an especial interest in poetry, and
often wrote poems that were set to music and sung in
the drawing rooms of the most refined companies
which assembled in the city. His young master
paying his addresses to a rich heiress, the slave was
requested to write a poem embodying the master's passion
for the young lady. Placido acquitted himself to the
entire satisfaction of the lover, who copied the epistle
in his own hand, and sent it on its mission. The
slave's compositions were so much admired that they
found their way into the newspaper; but no one knew
the negro as the author. In 1838, these poems,
together with a number which had never appeared in
print, were intrusted to a white man, who sent them to
England, where they were published and much praised
for the talent and scholarly attainment which they
developed. A number of young whites, who were
well acquainted with Placido and his genius, resolved
to purchase him and present him his freedom, which
they did in the year 1842. But a new field had
opened itself to the freed black, and he began to tread in
its paths. Freedom for himself was only the beginning;
he sighed to make others free. The imaginative brain
of the poet produced verses which the slaves sung in
their own rude way, and which kindled in their hearts
a more intense desire for liberty. Placido planned an
insurrection of the slaves, in which he was to be their
leader and deliverer; but the scheme failed. After a
hasty trial, he was convicted and sentenced to death.
The fatal day came; he walked to the place of execution
with as much calmness as if it had been to an
ordinary resort of pleasure. His manly and heroic
bearing excited the sympathy and admiration of all
who saw him. As he arrived at the fatal spot he
began reciting the following hymn, which he had written
in his cell the previous night:—

TO GOD—A PRAYER.
“Almighty God! whose goodness knows no bound,To thee I flee in my severe distress;O let thy potent arm my wrongs redress,And rend the odious veil by slander woundAbout my brow. The base world's arm confound,Who on my front would now the seal of shame impress.God of my sires, to whom all kings must yield,Be thou alone my shield; protect me now:All power is His, to whom the sea doth oweHis countless stores; who clothed with light heaven's field,And made the sun, and air, and polar seas congealed;All plants with life endowed, and made the rivers flow.All power is thine: 'twas thy creative mightThis goodly frame of things from chaos brought,Which unsustained by thee would still be nought,As erst it lay deep in the womb of night,Ere thy dread word first called it into light;Obedient to thy call, it lived, and moved, and thought.Thou know'st my heart, O God, supremely wise;Thine eye, all-seeing, cannot be deceived;By thee mine inmost soul is clear perceived,As objects gross are through transparent skiesBy mortal ken. Thy mercy exercise,Lest slander foul exult o'er innocence aggrieved.But if 'tis fixed, by thy decree divine,That I must bear the pain of guilt and shame,And that my foes this cold and senseless frameShall rudely treat with scorn and shouts malign,Give thou the word, and I my breath resign,Obedient to thy will. Blest be thy holy name!”

When all preparation for the execution had been
finished, Placido asked the privilege of giving the
signal, and it was granted. With his face wearing an
expression of almost superhuman courage, he said in
Spanish, “Adieu, O world; there is no justice or pity
for me here. Soldiers, fire!” Five balls entered his
body, but did not deprive him of life. Still unsubdued,
he again spoke, and placing his hand on his breast, said,
“Fire here.” Two balls from the reserve entered his
heart, and he fell dead.

Thus died Placido, the slave's poet of freedom. His
songs are still sung in the bondman's hut, and his
name is a household word to all. As the Marseillaise
was sung by the revolutionists of France, and inspired
the people with a hatred to oppressors, so will the
slaves of Cuba, at a future day, sing the songs of their
poet-martyr, and their cry will be, “Placido and
Liberty.”

JEREMIAH B. SANDERSON.

NEW BEDFORD has produced a number of
highly-intelligent men of the “doomed race;” men who, by
their own efforts, have attained positions, intellectually,
which, if they had been of the more favored class,
would have introduced them into the halls of Congress.
One of these is J. B. Sanderson. An industrious
student, and an ardent lover of literature, he has read
more than almost any one of his years within our
circle of acquaintance. History, theology, and the
classics, he is master of. We first met him while he
was on a tour through the west, as a lecturer on slavery,
and the impression then made on our mind became
still stronger as we knew more of him. Although not
at the time an ordained minister Mr. Sanderson, in
1848, preached for one of the religious societies of
New Bedford, on Sunday, and attended to his vocation
(hair dresser) during the week. Some of the best
educated of the whites were always in attendance on
these occasions. His sermons were generally beyond
the comprehension of his bearers, except those well
read. Emerson, Carlyle, and Theodore Parker, were
represented in his discourses, which were always
replete with historical incidents. Mr. Sanderson has
been several years in California, where he now preaches
to an intelligent congregation and is considered one of
the ablest religious teachers in the Pacific state.

“Honor and fame from no condition rise:Act well your part— there all the honor lies.”“Who does the best his circumstance allows,Does well, acts nobly: angels could no more.”

In stature Mr. Sanderson is somewhat above the
medium height, finely formed, well-developed head,
and a pleasing face; an excellent voice, which he
knows how to use. His gestures are correct without
being studied, and his sentences always tell upon his
audience. Few speakers are more happy in their
delivery than he. In one of those outbursts of true
eloquence for which he is so noted, we still remember
the impression made upon his hearers, when, on one
occasion, he exclaimed, “Neither men nor governments
have a right to sell those of their species; men
and their liberty are neither purchasable nor salable.
This is the law of nature, which is obligatory on all
men, at all times, and in all places.”

All accounts from California speak of J. B. Sanderson
as doing more for the enfranchisement and elevation
of his race than any one who has gone from the
Atlantic states.

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.

AT the commencement of the French revolution, in
1789, there were nine hundred thousand inhabitants
on the Island of St. Domingo. Of these, seven
hundred thousand were Africans, sixty thousand mixed
blood, and the remainder were whites and Caribbeans.
Like the involuntary servitude in our own Southern
States, slavery in St. Domingo kept morality at a low
stand. Owing to the amalgamation between masters
and slaves, there arose the mulatto population, which
eventually proved to be the worst enemies of their
fathers.

Many of the planters sent their mulatto sons to
France to be educated. When these young men
returned to the island, they were greatly dissatisfied at
the proscription which met them wherever they
appeared. White enough to make them hopeful and
aspiring, many of the mulattoes possessed wealth
enough to make them influential. Aware, by their
education, of the principles of freedom that were
being advocated in Europe and the United States, they
were ever on the watch to seize opportunities to better
their social and political condition. In the French
part of the island alone, twenty thousand whites lived
in the midst of thirty thousand free mulattoes and five
hundred thousand slaves. In the Spanish portion, the
odds were still greater in favor of the slaves. Thus
the advantage of numbers and physical strength was
on the side of the oppressed. Right is the most
dangerous of weapons—woe to him who leaves it to his
enemies!

The efforts of Wilberforce, Sharp, Buxton, and Clarkson
to abolish the African slave trade, and their
advocacy of the equality of the races, were well
understood by the men of color. They had also learned
their own strength in the island, and that they had
the sympathy of all Europe with them. The news of
the oath of the Tennis Court and the taking of the
Bastile at Paris was received with the wildest
enthusiasm by the people of St. Domingo.

The announcement of these events was hailed with
delight by both the white planters and the mulattoes;
the former, because they hoped that a revolution in
the mother country would secure to them the
independence of the colony; the latter, because they
viewed it as a movement that would give them equal
rights with the whites; and even the slaves regarded it
as a precursor to their own emancipation. But the
excitement which the outbreak at Paris had created
amongst the free men of color and the slaves, at once
convinced the planters that a separation from France
would be the death-knell of slavery in St. Domingo.

Although emancipated by law from the dominion of
individuals, the mulattoes had no rights: shut out
from society by their color, deprived of religious and
political privileges, they felt their degradation even
more keenly than the bond slaves. The mulatto son
was not allowed to dine at his father's table, kneel
with him in his devotions, bear his name, inherit his
property, nor even to lie in his father's graveyard.
Laboring as they were under the sense of their
personal social wrongs, the mulattoes tolerated, if they
did not encourage, low and vindictive passions. They
were haughty and disdainful to the blacks, whom they
scorned, and jealous and turbulent to the whites, whom
they hated and feared.

The mulattoes at once despatched one of their
number to Paris, to lay before the Constitutional Assembly
their claim to equal rights with the whites. Vincent
Ogé, their deputy, was well received at Paris by Lafayette,
Brissot, Barnave, and Gregoire, and was admitted
to a seat in the Assembly, where he eloquently
portrayed the wrongs of his race. In urging his claims,
he said, if equality was withheld from the mulattoes,
they would appeal to force. This was seconded by
Lafayette and Barnave, who said, “Perish the colonies
rather than a principle.”

The Assembly passed a decree granting the demands
of the men of color, and Ogé was made bearer of the
news to his brethren. The planters armed themselves,
met the young deputy on his return to the island, and
a battle ensued. The free colored men rallied around
Ogé, but they were defeated and taken, with their brave
leader, were first tortured, and then broken alive on
the wheel.

The prospect of freedom was put down for the time,
but the blood of Ogé and his companions bubbled
silently in the hearts of the African race; they swore
to avenge them.

The announcement of the death of Ogé in the halls
of the Assembly at Paris created considerable excitement,
and became the topic of conversation in the
clubs and on the Boulevards. Gregoire defended the
course of the colored men, and said, “If Liberty was
right in France, it was right in St. Domingo.” He
well knew that the crime for which Ogé had suffered
in the West Indies, had constituted the glory of Mirabeau
and Lafayette at Paris, and Washington and
Hancock in the United States. The planters in the
island trembled at their own oppressive acts, and terror
urged them on to greater violence. The blood of
Ogé and his accomplices had sown every where despair
and conspiracy. The French sent an army to St.
Domingo to enforce the laws.

The planters repelled with force the troops sent out
by France, denying its prerogatives and refusing the
civic oath. In the midst of these thickening troubles,
the planters who resided in France were invited to
return and assist in vindicating the civil independence
of the island. Then was it that the mulattoes earnestly
appealed to the slaves, and the result was appalling.
The slaves awoke as from an ominous dream, and
demanded their rights with sword in hand. Gaining
immediate success, and finding that their liberty would
not be granted by the planters, they rapidly increased
in numbers; and in less than a week from its
commencement, the storm had swept over the whole plain
of the north, from east to west, and from the
mountains to the sea. The splendid villas and rich
factories yielded to the furies of the devouring flames; so
that the mountains, covered with smoke and burning
cinders, borne upwards by the wind, looked like
volcanoes; and the atmosphere, as if on fire, resembled
a furnace.

Such were the outraged feelings of a people whose
ancestors had been ruthlessly torn from their native
land, and sold in the shambles of St. Domingo. To
terrify the blacks and convince them that they could
could never be free, the planters were murdering them on
every hand by thousands.

The struggle in St. Domingo was watched with
intense interest by the friends of the blacks, both in
Paris and in London, and all appeared to look with
hope to the rising up of a black chief, who should
prove himself adequate to the emergency. Nor did
they look in vain. In the midst of the disorders that
threatened on all sides, the negro chief made his
appearance in the person of a slave, named Toussaint.
This man was the grandson of the King of Ardra, one
of the most powerful and wealthy monarchs on the
west coast of Africa. By his own energy and
perseverance, Toussaint had learned to read and write, and
was held in high consideration by the surrounding
planters as well as their slaves.

His private virtues were many, and he had a deep
and pervading sense of religion, and in the camp
carried it even as far as Oliver Cromwell. Toussaint
was born on the island, and was fifty years of age when
called into the field. One of his chief characteristics
was his humanity.

Before taking any part in the revolution, he aided
his master's family to escape from the impending
danger. After seeing them beyond the reach of the
revolutionary movement, he entered the army as an
inferior officer, but was soon made aid-de-camp to
General Bissou. Disorder and bloodshed reigned throughout
the island, and every day brought fresh intelligence
of depredations committed by whites, mulattoes, and
blacks.

Such was the condition of affairs when a decree was
passed by the Colonial Assembly giving equal rights to
the mulattoes, and asking their aid in restoring order
and reducing the slaves again to their chains. Overcome
by this decree, and having gained all they wished,
the free colored men joined the planters in a murderous
crusade against the slaves. This union of the
whites and mulattoes to prevent the bondman getting
his freedom, created an ill feeling between the two
proscribed classes which seventy years have not been
able to efface. The French government sent a second
army to St. Domingo, to enforce the laws giving freedom
to the slaves; and Toussaint joined it on its arrival
in the island, and fought bravely against the planters.

While the people of St. Domingo were thus fighting
amongst themselves, the revolutionary movement in
France had fallen into the hands of Robespierre and
Danton, and the guillotine was beheading its thousands
daily. When the news of the death of Louis XVI.
reached St. Domigo, Toussaint and his companions
left the French, and joined the Spanish army in the
eastern part of the island, and fought for the kin of
Spain. Here Toussaint was made brigadier general,
and appeared in the field as the most determined foe
of the French planters.

The two armies met; a battle was fought in the
streets, and many thousands were slain on both sides;
the planters, however, were defeated. During the
conflict the city was set on fire, and on every side
presented shocking evidence of slaughter, conflagration,
and pillage. The strifes of political and religious
partisanship, which had raged in the clubs and streets
of Paris, were transplanted to St. Domingo, where
they raged with all the heat of a tropical clime and
the animosities of a civil war. Truly did the flames
of the French revolution at Paris, and the ignorance
and self-will of the planters, set the island of St.
Domingo on fire. The commissioners, with their retinue,
retired from the burning city into the neighboring
highlands, where a camp was formed to protect the
ruined town from the opposing party. Having no
confidence in the planters, and fearing a reaction, the
commissioners proclaimed a general emancipation to
the slave population, and invited the blacks who had
joined the Spaniards to return. Toussaint and his
followers accepted the invitation, returned, and were
enrolled in the army under the commissioners. Fresh
troops arrived from France, who were no sooner in the
island than they separated—some siding with the
planters, and others with the commissioners. The
white republicans of the mother country arrayed
themselves against the white republicans of St. Domingo,
whom they were sent out to assist; the blacks and
the mulattoes were at war with each other; old and
young, of both sexes and of all colors, were put to
the sword, while the fury of the flames swept from
plantation to plantation and from town to town.

During these sad commotions, Toussaint, by his
superior knowledge of the character of his race, his
humanity, generosity, and courage, had gained the
confidence of all whom he had under his command.
The rapidity with which he travelled from post to post
astonished every one. By his genius and surpassing
activity, Toussaint levied fresh forces, raised the
reputation of the army, and drove the English and Spanish
from the island.

With the termination of this struggle every vestige
of slavery and all obstacles to freedom disappeared.
Toussaint exerted every nerve to make Hayti what it
had formerly been. He did every thing in his power
to promote agriculture; and in this he succeeded
beyond the most sanguine expectations of the friends of
freedom, both in England and France. Even the
planters who had remained on the island acknowledged
the prosperity of Hayti under the governorship of the
man whose best days had been spent in slavery.

The peace of Amiens left Bonaparte without a rival
on the continent, and with a large and experienced
army, which he feared to keep idle; and he determined
to send a part of it to St. Domingo.

The army for the expedition to St. Domingo was
fitted out, and no pains or expense spared to make it
an imposing one. Fifty-six ships of war, with twenty-five
thousand men, left France for Hayti. It was,
indeed, the most valiant fleet that had ever sailed
from the French dominions. The Alps, the Nile, the
Rhine, and all Italy, had resounded with the exploits
of the men who were now leaving their country for
the purpose of placing the chains again on the limbs
of the heroic people of St. Domingo. There were
men in that army that had followed Bonaparte from
the siege of Toulon to the battle under the shades of
the pyramids of Egypt—men who had grown gray in
the camp.

News of the intended invasion reached St. Domingo
some days before the squadron had sailed from Brest;
and therefore the blacks had time to prepare to meet
their enemies. Toussaint had concentrated his forces
at such points as he expected would be first attacked.
Christophe was sent to defend Cape City, and Port-au-Prince
was left in the hands of Dessalines.

With no navy, and but little means of defence, the
Haytians determined to destroy their towns rather
than they should fall into the hands of the enemy.
Late in the evening the French ships were seen to
change their position, and Christophe, satisfied that
they were about to effect a landing, set fire to his own
house, which was the signal for the burning of the
town. The French general wept as he beheld the
ocean of flames rising from the tops of the houses in
the finest city in St. Domingo. Another part of the
fleet landed in Samana, where Toussaint, with an
experienced wing of the army, was ready to meet them.
On seeing the ships enter the harbor, the heroic chief
said, “Here come the enslavers of our race. All
France is coming to St. Domingo, to try again to put
the fetters upon our limbs; but not France, with all
her troops of the Rhine, the Alps, the Nile, the Tiber,
nor all Europe to help her, can extinguish the soul of
Africa. That soul, when once the soul of a man, and
no longer that of a slave, can overthrow the pyramids
and the Alps themselves, sooner than again be crushed
down into slavery.” The French, however, effected a
landing, but they found nothing but smouldering
ruins, where once stood splendid cities. Toussaint and
his generals at once abandoned the towns, and betook
themselves to the mountains, those citadels of freedom
in St. Domingo, where the blacks have always proved
too much for the whites.

Toussaint put forth a proclamation to the colored
people, in which he said, “You are now to meet and
fight enemies who have neither faith, law, nor religion.
Lot us resolve that these French troops shall never
leave our shores alive.” The war commenced, and
the blacks were victorious in nearly all the battles.
Where the French gained a victory, they put their
prisoners to the most excruciating tortures; in many
instances burning them in pits, and throwing them
into boiling caldrons. This example of cruelty set
by the whites was followed by the blacks. Then it
was that Dessalines, the ferocious chief, satisfied his
long pent-up revenge against the white planters and
French soldiers that he made prisoners. The French
general saw that he could gain nothing from the blacks
on the field of battle, and he determined upon a stratagem,
in which he succeeded too well.

A correspondence was opened with Toussaint, in
which the captain-general promised to acknowledge
the liberty of the blacks and the equality of all, if he
would yield. Overcome by the persuasions of his
generals and the blacks who surrounded him, and
who were sick and tired of the shedding of blood,
Toussaint gave in his adhesion to the French authorities.
This was the great error of his life.

Vincent, in his “Reflections on the Present State
of the Colony of St. Domingo,” says, “Toussaint, at
the head of his army, is the most active and indefatigable
man of whom we can form an idea; we may
say, with truth, that he is found wherever instructions
or danger render his presence necessary. The
particular care which he employs in his march, of always
deceiving the men of whom he has need, and who
think they enjoy a confidence he gives to none, has
such an effect that he is daily expected in all the chief
places of the colony. His great sobriety, the faculty,
which none but he possesses, of never reposing, the
facility with which he resumes the affairs of the cabinet
after the most tiresome excursions, of answering
daily a hundred letters, and of habitually tiring five
secretaries, render him so superior to all those around
him, that their respect and submission are in most
individuals carried even to fanaticism. It is certain
that no man, in the present times, has possessed such
an influence over a mass of people as General Toussaint
possesses over his brethren in St. Domingo.”

The above is the opinion of an enemy—one who
regarded the negro chief as a dangerous man to his
interest.

Invited by the captain-general of the island to attend
a council, the black hero was treacherously seized and
sent on board the ship of war Hero, which set sail at
once for France. On the arrival of the illustrious
prisoner at Brest, he was taken in a close carriage and
transferred to the castle of Joux, in the Lower Pyrenees.
The gelid atmosphere of the mountain region,
the cold, damp dungeon in which he was placed, with
the water dripping upon the floor day and night, did
not hasten the death of Toussaint fast enough. By
Napoleon's directions the prisoner's servant was taken
from him, sufficient clothing and bedding to keep him
warm were denied, his food curtailed, and his keeper,
after an absence of four days, returned and found the
hero of St. Domingo dead in his cell. Thus terminated
the career of a self-made man.

Toussaint was of prepossessing appearance, of middle
stature, and possessed an iron frame. His dignified,
calm, and unaffected features, and broad and
well-developed forehead, would cause him to be selected,
in any company of men, as one born for a leader.
Endowed by nature with high qualities of mind, he
owed his elevation to his own energies and his devotion
to the welfare and freedom of his race. His
habits were thoughtful; and like most men of energetic
temperaments, he crowded much into what he
said. So profound and original were his opinions, that
they have been successively drawn upon by all the
chiefs of St. Domingo since his era, and still without
loss of adaptation to the circumstances of the country.
The policy of his successors has been but a repetition
of his plans, and his maxims are still the guidance of
the rulers of Hayti. His thoughts were copious and
full of vigor, and what he could express well in his
native patois he found tame and unsatisfactory in the
French language, which he was obliged to employ in
the details of his official business. He would never
sign what he did not fully understand, obliging two or
three secretaries to re-word the document, until they
had succeeded in furnishing the particular phrase
expressive of his meaning. While at the height of his
power, and when all around him were furnished with
every comfort, and his officers living in splendor,
Toussaint himself lived with an austere sobriety which
bordered on abstemiousness. He was entirely master
of his own passions and appetites. It was his custom
to set off in his carriage with the professed object of
going to some particular point of the island, and when
he had passed over several miles of the journey, to
quit the carriage, which continued its route under the
same escort of guards, while Toussaint, mounted on
horseback and followed by his officers, made rapid
excursions across the country, to places where he was
least expected. It was upon one of these occasions
that he owed his life to his singular mode of travelling.
He had just left his carriage when an ambuscade
of mulattoes, concealed in the thickets of Boucassin,
fired upon the guard, and several balls pierced
the carriage, and one of them killed an old domestic
who occupied the seat of his master. No person knew
better than he the art of governing the people under
his jurisdiction. The greater part of the population
loved him to idolatry. Veneration for Toussaint was
not confined to the boundaries of St. Domingo; it ran
through Europe; and in France his name was
frequently pronounced in the senate with the eulogy of
polished eloquence. No one can look back upon his
career without feeling that Toussaint was a remarkable
man. Without being bred to the science of arms,
he became a valiant soldier, and baffled the skill of the
most experienced generals that had followed Napoleon.
Without military knowledge he fought like one born
in the camp. Without means he carried on the war.
He beat his enemies in battle, and turned their own
weapons against them. He laid the foundation for
the emancipation of his race and the independence
of the island. From ignorance he became educated
by his own exertions. From a slave he rose to be
a soldier, a general, and a governor, and might
have been king of St. Domingo. He possessed
splendid traits of genius, which was developed in
the private circle, in the council chamber, and on
the field of battle. His very name became a tower
of strength to his friends and a terror to his foes.
Toussaint's career as a Christian, a statesman, and a
general, will lose nothing by a comparison with that
of Washington. Each was the leader of an oppressed
and outraged people, each had a powerful enemy to
contend with , and each succeeded in founding a
government in the new world. Toussaint's government
made liberty its watchword, incorporated it in its
constitution, abolished the slave trade, and made freedom
universal amongst the people. Washington's government
incorporated slavery and the slave trade, and
enacted laws by which chains were fastened upon the
limbs of millions of people. Toussaint liberated his
countrymen; Washington enslaved a portion of his.
When impartial history shall do justice to the St.
Domingo revolution, the name of Toussaint L'Ouverture
will be placed high upon the roll of fame.

CRISPUS ATTUCKS.

THE principle that taxation and representation were
inseparable was in accordance with the theory, the
genius, and the precedents of British legislation; and
this principle was now, for the first time, intentionally
invaded. The American colonies were not represented
in Parliament; yet an act was passed by that body, the
tendency of which was to invalidate all right and title to
their property. This was the “Stamp Act,” of March
28, 1765, which ordained that no sale, bond, note of
hand, or other instrument of writing should be valid
unless executed on paper bearing the stamp prescribed by
the home government. The intelligence of the passage
of the stamp act at once roused the indignation of the
liberty-loving portion of the people of the colonies, and
meetings were held at various points to protest against
this high-handed measure. Massachusetts was the first
to take a stand in opposition to the mother country.
The merchants and traders of Boston, New York, and
Philadelphia entered into non-importation agreements,
with a view of obtaining a repeal of the obnoxious law.
Under the pressure of public sentiment, the stamp act
officers gave in their resignations. The eloquence of
William Pitt and the sagacity of Lord Camden brought
about a repeal of the stamp act in the British Parliament.
A new ministry, in 1767, succeeded in getting
through the House of Commons a bill to tax the tea
imported into the American colonies, and it received
the royal assent. Massachusetts again took the lead in
opposing the execution of this last act, and Boston began
planning to take the most conspicuous part in the
great drama. The agitation in the colonies provoked
the home government, and power was given to the
governor of Massachusetts to take notice of all persons
who might offer any treasonable objections to these
oppressive enactments, that the same might be sent home
to England to be tried there. Lord North was now at
the head of affairs, and no leniency was to be shown to
the colonies. The concentration of British troops in
large numbers at Boston convinced the people that
their liberties were at stake, and they began to rally.
A crowded and enthusiastic meeting, held in Boston in
the latter part of the year 1769, was addressed by the
ablest talent that the progressive element could
produce. Standing in the back part of the hall, eagerly
listening to the speakers, was a dark mulatto man, very
tall, rather good looking, and apparently about fifty
years of age. This was Crispus Attucks. Though taking
no part in the meeting, he was nevertheless destined
to be conspicuous in the first struggle in throwing off
the British yoke. Twenty years previous to this,
Attucks was the slave of William Brouno, Esq., of
Framingham, Mass.; but his was a heart beating for
freedom, and not to be kept in the chains of mental or
bodily servitude.

From the Boston Gazette of Tuesday, November 20,
1750, now in the possession of William C. Nell, Esq., I
copy the following advertisement:—

“Ran away from his master William Brouno
Framingham, on the 30th of Sept., last, a Molatto Fellow,
about 27 years of Age named Crispus, well set, six feet
2 inches high, short curl'd Hair, knees nearer together
than common; had on a light coloured Bearskin Coat,
brown Fustian jacket, new Buckskin Breeches, blew
yarn Stockins and Checkered Shirt. Whoever shall
take up said Run-away, and convey him to his above
said Master at Framingham, shall have Ten Pounds,
Old Tenor Reward and all necessary Charges paid.”

The above is a verbatim et literatim advertisement
for a runaway slave one hundred and twelve years
ago. Whether Mr. Brouno succeeded in recapturing
Crispus or not, we are left in the dark.

Ill-feeling between the mother country and her
colonial subjects had been gaining ground, while British
troops were concentrating at Boston. On the 5th of
March, 1770, the people were seen early congregating
at the corners of the principal streets, at Dock Square,
arid near the custom house. Captain Preston, with a
body of redcoats, started out for the purpose of keeping
order in the disaffected town, and was hissed at by
the crowds in nearly every place where he appeared.
The day passed off without any outward manifestation
of disturbance, but all seemed to feel that something
would take place after nightfall. The doubling of the
guard in and about the custom house showed that
the authorities felt an insecurity that they did not care
to express. The lamps in Dock Square threw their
light in the angry faces of a large crowd who appeared
to be waiting for the crisis, in whatever form it should
come. A part of Captain Preston's company was making
its way from the custom house, when they were met
by the crowd from Dock Square, headed by the black
man Attucks, who was urging them to meet the red-coats,
and drive them from the streets. “These rebels
have no business here,” said he; “let's drive them
away.” The people became enthusiastic, their brave
leader grew more daring in his language and attitude,
while the soldiers under Captain Preston appeared to
give way. “Come on! don't be afraid!” cried Attucks.
“They dare not shoot; and if they dare, let
them do it.” Stones and sticks, with which the populace
was armed, were freely used, to the great discomfiture
of the English soldiers. “Don't hesitate! come
on! We'll drive these rebels out of Boston,” were the
last words heard from the lips of the colored man, for
the sharp crack of muskets silenced his voice, and he
fell weltering in his blood. Two balls had pierced his
sable breast. Thus died Crispus Attucks, the first
martyr to American liberty, and the inaugurator of the
revolution that was destined to take from the crown
of George the Third its brightest star. An immense
concourse of citizens followed the remains of the hero
to its last resting place, and his name was honorably
mentioned in the best circles. The last words, the
daring, and the death of Attucks gave spirit and
enthusiasm to the revolution, and his heroism was
imitated by both whites arid blacks. His name was a
rallying cry for the brave colored men who fought at
the battle of Bunker's Hill. In the gallant defence of
Redbank, where four hundred blacks met arid defeated
fifteen hundred Hessians headed by Count Donop,
the thought of Attucks filled them with ardor. When
Colonel Greene fell at Groton, surrounded by his black
troops who perished with him, they went into the battle
feeling proud of the opportunity of imitating the
first martyr of the American revolution.

No monument has yet been erected to him. An
effort was made in the legislature of Massachusetts a
few years since, but without success. Five generations
of accumulated prejudice against the negro had
excluded from the American mind all inclination to do
justice to one of her bravest sons. When negro slavery
shall be abolished in our land, then we may hope to
see a monument raised to commemorate the heroism
of Crispus Attucks.

DESSALINES.

JEAN JACQUES DESSALINES was a native of Africa.
Brought to St. Domingo at the age of sixteen, he was
sold to a black man named Dessalines, from whom he
took his own. His master was a tiler or house-shingler,
and the slave learned that trade, at which he
worked until the breaking out of the revolution of
1789, when he entered the army as a common soldier,
under Toussaint. By his activity and singular fierceness
on the field of battle, Dessalines attracted the
attention of his general, who placed him among his
guides and personal attendants; and he was
subsequently rapidly advanced through several intermediate
grades to the dignity of being the third in command.
He was entirely ignorant of learning, as the utmost
extent that he ever acquired was to sign his name.
Dessalines was short in stature, but stout and muscular.
His complexion was a dingy black; his eyes were
prominent and scowling, and the lines of his features
expressed the untamed ferocity of his character. He
had a haughty and disdainful look. Hunger, thirst,
fatigue, and loss of sleep he seemed made to endure as
if by peculiarity of constitution. He bore upon his
arms and breast the marks of his tribe. Inured by
exposure and toil to a hard life, his frame possessed a
wonderful power of endurance. He was a bold and
turbulent spirit, whose barbarous eloquence lay in
expressive signs rather than in words. What is most
strange in the history of Dessalines is, that he was a
savage, a slave, a soldier, a general, and died, when an
emperor, under the dagger of a Brutus.

A more courageous man than he never lived. Fearing
that his men, during the attack upon the fort at
Crete-a-Pierrot, would surrender it, he seized a torch,
held it to the door of the magazine, and threatened to
blow up the fort, and himself with it, if they did not
defend it. Nearly all historians have set him down as
a bloodthirsty monster, who delighted in the sufferings
of his fellow-creatures. They do not rightly consider
the circumstances that surrounded him, and the
foe that he had to deal with.

Rochambeau, the commanding general, from the
landing of Napoleon's expedition to the entire expulsion
of the French, was a hard-hearted slaveholder,
many of whose years had been spent in St. Domingo,
and who, from the moment that he landed with his
forces, treated the colored men as the worst of barbarians
and wild beasts. He imported bloodhounds from
Cuba to hunt them down in the mountains. When
caught, he had them thrown into burning pits and
boiling caldrons. When he took prisoners, he put
them to the most excruciating tortures and the most
horrible deaths. His ferocious and sanguinary spirit
was too much for the kind heart of Toussaint, or the
gentlemanly bearing of Christophe. His only match
was Dessalines.

In a battle near Cape François, Rochambeau took
five hundred black prisoners, and put them all to death
the same day. Dessalines, hearing of this, brought five
hundred white prisoners in sight of the French, and
hung them up, so that the cruel monster could see the
result of his own barbarous example.

Although Toussaint was away from the island, the
war seemed to rage with greater fury than at any former
period. The blacks grew wild as they looked upon
the flames; they became conscious of their power and
success; gaining confidence and increasing their numbers,
all the pent-up feelings and hatred of years burst
forth, and they pushed forward upon defenceless men,
women, and children. The proud, haughty, and self-sufficient
planter, who had been permitted, under the
mild rule of Toussaint, to return and establish himself
on his former estate, had to give way again to the
terrible realities which came upon him.

The fertile plains that were in the highest state of
cultivation, the lively green of the sugar-cane that
filled the landscape through boundless fields, and the
plantations of indigo and coffee, with all their beautiful
hues of vegetation, were destroyed by the flames
and smoke which spread every where. Dessalines was
the commander-in-chief in fact, though he shared the
name with Christophe and Clervaux. Forty thousand
French troops had already perished by yellow fever
and the sword. Leclerc, the captain-general of the
island, lay sick, the hospitals were filled, and the
blacks had possession of nearly all the towns.

Twenty thousand fresh troops arrived from France,
but they were not destined to see Leclerc, for the
yellow fever had taken him off. In the mountains were
many barbarous and wild blacks, who had escaped
from slavery soon after being brought from the coast
of Africa. One of these bands of savages was
commanded by Lamour de Rance, an adroit, stern, savage
man, half naked, with epaulets tied to his bare shoulders
for his only token of authority. This man had
been brought from the coast of Africa, and sold as a
slave in Port au Prince. On being ordered one day to
saddle his master's horse, he did so, then mounted the
animal, fled to the mountains, and ever after made
those fearful regions his home. Lamour passed from
mountain to mountain with something of the ease of
the birds of his own native land. Toussaint, Christophe,
and Dessalines, had each in their turn pursued
him, but in vain. His mode of fighting was in keeping
with his dress. This savage united with others like
himself, and became complete master of the wilds of
St. Domingo. They came forth from their mountain
homes, and made war on the whites wherever they found
them. Rochambeau, surrounded on all sides, drew
his army together for defence rather than aggression.
Reduced to the last extremity by starvation, the French
general sued for peace, and promised that he would
immediately leave the island. It was accepted by the
blacks, and Rochambeau prepared to return to France.
The French embarked in their vessels of war, and the
standard of the blacks once more waved over Cape
City, the capital of St. Domingo. As the French sailed
from the island, they saw the tops of the mountains
lighted up. It was not a blaze kindled for war, but
for freedom. Every heart beat for liberty, and every
voice shouted for joy. From the ocean to the mountains,
and from town to town, the cry was, Freedom!
Freedom! Thus ended Napoleon's expedition to St.
Domingo. In less than two years the French lost
more than fifty thousand persons. After the retirement
of the whites, the men of color put forth a
Declaration of Independence, in which they said,
“We have sworn to show no mercy to those who may
dare to speak to us of slavery.”

The bravery and military skill which Dessalines had
exhibited after the capture of Toussaint, the bold,
resolute manner in which he had expelled the whites
from the island, naturally pointed him out as the
future ruler of St. Domingo. After serving a short
time as president, Dessalines assumed the dignity of
emperor, and changed the name of the island to that
of Hayti.

The population of Hayti had been very much
thinned by the ravages of war, and Dessalines, for the
purpose of aiding those of his race, who had been
taken away by force, to return, offered large rewards
to captains of vessels for any that they might bring
back as passengers.

One of the charges against Dessalines is based upon
the fact that he changed his government from a republic
to an empire. But we must consider that the people
of Hayti had always lived under a monarchy, and
were wedded to that kind of government. Had
Toussaint allowed himself to be made a king, his
power would have been recognized by Great Britain,
and he would never have yielded to the solicitations
of Leclerc, when that general's fleet landed on the
island. Napoleon had just been crowned emperor of
France, and it was not at all surprising that Dessalines
should feel inclined to imitate the conqueror of Egypt.

The empire of Hayti was composed of six military
divisions, each to be under the command of a general
officer, who was independent of his associates who
governed in other districts, as he was responsible to
the head of the state alone. The supreme power was
formally conferred upon Jean Jacques Dessalines, the
avenger and liberator of his countrymen, who was to
take the title of Emperor and Commander-in-chief of
the Army, and to be addressed by the appellation of
His Majesty—a dignity which was also conferred upon
the empress, his wife, and the persons of both were
declared inviolable. The crown was elective, but the
power was conferred upon the reigning emperor to
select and appoint his successor, by a nomination which
required the sanction of the people to give it validity.
The emperor was empowered to make the laws to govern
the empire, and to promulgate them under his
seal; to appoint all the functionaries of the state, and
remove them at his will; to hold the purse of the
nation; to make peace and war, and in all things to
exercise the rights and privileges of an absolute
sovereign. The monarch was assisted in wielding this
mighty authority by a council of state, composed of
generals of division and brigade. No peculiar faith
in religion was established by law, and toleration was
extended to the doctrines and worship of all sects.
Surrounded by all the luxuries that wealth could
procure, he was distinguished for the Roman virtues
of abstinence and energy. Scorning effeminacy, he
seemed ambitious to inure himself to the most laborious
exercise and to the simplest mode of living.
Dessalines was well schooled in the toils and labors of
the camp. As his life was made up of extremes, so in
his habits and personal endurances were seen great
contrasts. Impetuosity and rapid movement were
among his chief characteristics. He prided himself on
his being able to surprise his enemies and taking them
unprepared. Indeed, this was a leading trait in his
military character, and places him alongside of Napoleon,
or any other general, ancient or modern. As
time smooths over his footsteps, and wears out the
blood that marked his course, the circumstances
attending it will, no doubt, be made to extenuate some
of his many faults, and magnify his virtues as a general,
a ruler, and a man.

The empress was a woman of rare beauty, and had
some education, talent, and refinement. Her humanity
caused her to restrain her husband, upon many
occasions, from acts of cruelty. Though uneducated,
Dessalines was not ignorant even of the classics, for he
kept three secretaries, who, by turns, read to him.

As soon as he came into power, the emperor exerted
every nerve to fortify the island, and to make it strong
in the time of need. Much has been said of the
cruelty of this man, and far be it from me to apologize
for his acts. Yet, to judge rightly of him, we must
remember that he had an ignorant people to govern,
on the one hand, and the former planters to watch
and control on the other. This latter class was
scattered all over Europe and the United States, and they
lost no opportunity to poison the minds of the whites
against Dessalines and his government. He discovered
many plots of the old white planters to assassinate
him, and this drew out the ferociousness of his disposition,
and made him cruel in the extreme. That he
caused the death of innocent persons, there is not the
slightest doubt; but that such a man as he was needed
at the time, all must admit. Had Dessalines been in
the place of Toussaint, he would never have been
transferred from Hayti to France. Unlimited power,
conferred upon him, together with the opposition of
the whites in all countries, made him cruel even to
his own race, and they looked forward with a degree
of hope to his removal. The mulattoes, against whom
he had never ceased to war, were ever watchful for an
opportunity to take his life. A secret conspiracy was
accordingly planned by this class, and on the 17th of
October, 1806, while Dessalines was on a journey from
St. Marks to Port au Prince, a party in ambuscade
fired at him, and he fell dead.

Hayti had much improved under his management,
especially in agriculture. The towns, many of them,
had been rebuilt, commerce extended, and the arts
patronized. Military talents have been ascribed to
Dessalines even superior to Toussaint. He certainly
had great courage, but upon the battle field it seemed
to be the headlong fury of the tiger rather than the
calm deliberation of L'Ouverture. Of all the heroic
men which the boiling caldron of the St. Domingo
revolution threw upon its surface, for the purpose of
meeting the tyrannical whites, of bringing down upon
them terrible retribution for their long and cruel
reign, and of vindicating the rights of the oppressed
in that unfortunate island, the foremost place belongs
to the African, the savage, the soldier, the general,
the president, and lastly the emperor Jean Jacques
Dessalines.

IRA ALDRIDGE.

ON looking over the columns of The Times, one
morning, I saw it announced under the head of
“Amusements,” that “Ira Aldridge, the African
Roscius,” was to appear in the character of Othello,
in Shakspeare's celebrated tragedy of that name, and,
having long wished to see my sable countryman, I
resolved at once to attend. Though the doors had
been open but a short time when I reached the Royal
Haymarket, the theatre where the performance was to
take place, the house was well filled, and among the
audience I recognized the faces of several distinguished
persons of the nobility, the most noted of
whom was Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, the renowned
novelist—his figure neat, trim, hair done up in the
latest fashion—looking as if he had just come out of a
band-box. He is a great lover of the drama, and has
a private theatre at one of his country seats, to which
he often invites his friends, and presses them into the
different characters.

As the time approached for the curtain to rise, it was
evident that the house was to be “jammed.” Stuart,
the best Iago since the days of Young, in company
with Roderigo, came upon the stage as soon as the
green curtain went up. Iago looked the villain, and
acted it to the highest conception of the character.
The scene is changed, all eyes are turned to the right
door, and thunders of applause greet the appearance
of Othello. Mr. Aldridge is of the middle size, and
appeared to be about three quarters African; has a
pleasant countenance, frame well knit, and seemed to
me the best Othello that I had ever seen. As Iago
began to work upon his feelings, the Moor's eyes
flashed fire, and, further on in the play, he looked the
very demon of despair. When he seized the deceiver
by the throat, and exclaimed, “Villain! be sure thou
prove my love false: be sure of it—give me the ocular
proof—or, by the worth of my eternal soul, thou
hadst better have been born a dog, Iago, than answer
my waked wrath,” the audience, with one impulse,
rose to their feet amid the wildest enthusiasm. At
the end of the third act, Othello was called before the
curtain, and received the applause of the delighted
multitude. I watched the countenance and every
motion of Bulwer Lytton with almost as much interest
as I did that of the Moor of Venice, and saw that
none appeared to be better pleased than he. The following
evening I went to witness his Hamlet, and was
surprised to find him as perfect in that as he had been
in Othello; for I had been led to believe that the latter
was his greatest character. The whole court of Denmark
was before us; but till the words, “'Tis not
alone my inky cloak, good mother,” fell from the lips
of Mr. Aldridge, was the general ear charmed, or the
general tongue arrested. The voice was so low, and
sad, and sweet, the modulation so tender, the dignity
so natural, the grace so consummate, that all yielded
themselves silently to the delicious enchantment.
When Horatio told him that he had come to see his
father's funeral, the deep melancholy that took
possession of his face showed the great dramatic power
of Mr. Aldridge. “I pray thee do not mock me, fellow-student,”
seemed to come from his inmost soul. The
animation with which his countenance was lighted up,
during Horatio's recital of the visits that the ghost
had paid him and his companions, was beyond description.
“Angels and ministers of grace defend us,”
as the ghost appeared in the fourth scene, sent a thrill
through the whole assembly. His rendering of the
“Soliloquy on Death,” which Edmund Kean, Charles
Kemble, and William C. Macready have reaped such
unfading laurels from, was one of his best efforts. He
read it infinitely better than Charles Kean, whom I
had heard at the “Princess,” but a few nights
previous. The vigorous starts of thought, which in the
midst of his personal sorrows rise with such beautiful
and striking suddenness from the ever-wakeful mind
of the humanitarian philosopher, are delivered with
that varying emphasis that characterizes the truthful
delineator, when he exclaims, “Frailty, thy name is
woman!” In the second scene of the second act,
when revealing to Guildenstern the melancholy which
preys upon his mind, the beautiful and powerful words
in which Hamlet explains his feelings are made very
effective in Mr. Aldridge's rendering: “This most
excellent canopy, the air, the brave o'erhanging
firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire
. . . . What a piece of work is a man! How noble
in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving
how express and admirable! in action how like an
angel! in apprehension how like a God!” In the last
scene of the second act, when Hamlet's imagination,
influenced by the interview with the actors, suggests
to his rich mind so many eloquent reflections, Mr.
Aldridge enters fully into the spirit of the scene,
warms up, and when he exclaims, “He would drown
the stage with tears, and cleave the general ear with
horrid speech,—make mad the guilty, and appall the
free,” he is very effective; and when this warmth
mounts into a paroxysm of rage, and he calls the
King “Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous,
lecherous, kindless villain!” he sweeps the
audience with him, and brings down deserved
applause. The fervent soul and restless imagination,
which are ever stirring at the bottom of the fountain,
and sending bright bubbles to the top, find a glowing
reflection on the animated surface of Mr. Aldridge's
colored face. I thought Hamlet one of his best
characters, though I saw him afterwards in several
others.

Mr. Aldridge is a native of Senegal, in Africa. His
forefathers were princes of the Foulah tribe, whose
dominions were in Senegal, on the banks of the river
of that name, on the west coast of Africa. To this
shore one of our early missionaries found his way,
and took charge of Ira's father, Daniel Aldridge, in
order to qualify him for the work of civilizing and
evangelizing his countrymen. Daniel's father, the
reigning prince, was more enlightened than his subjects,
probably through the instruction of the missionary,
and proposed that his prisoners taken in battle
should be exchanged, and not, as was the custom, sold
as slaves. This wish interfered with the notions and
perquisites of his tribe, especially his principal chiefs;
and a civil war raged among the people. During
these differences, Daniel, then a promising youth, was
brought to the United States by the missionary, and
sent to Schenectady College to receive the advantages
of a Christian education. Three days after his
departure, the revolutionary storm, which was brewing,
broke out openly, and the reigning prince, the advocate
of humanity, was killed.

Daniel Aldridge remained in America till the death
of the rebellious chief, who had headed the conspiracy,
and reigned instead of the murdered prince. During
the interval, Daniel had become a minister of the
gospel, and was regarded by all classes as a man of
uncommon abilities. He was, however, desirous to
establish himself at the head of his tribe, possess himself
of his birthright, and advance the cause of Christianity
among his countrymen. For this purpose he
returned to his native country, taking with him a
young wife, one of his own color, whom he had but
just married in America. Daniel no sooner appeared
among the people of his slaughtered father, than old
disagreements revived, civil war broke out, the
enlightened African was defeated, barely escaping from
the scene of strife with his life, and for some time
unable to quit the country, which was watched by
numerous enemies anxious for his capture. Nine
years elapsed before the proscribed family escaped to
America, during the whole of which time they were
concealed in the neighborhood of their foes, enduring
vicissitudes and hardships that can well be imagined,
but need not be described.

Ira Aldridge was born soon after his father's arrival
in Senegal, and on their return to America, was
intended by the latter for the church. Many a white
parent has “chalked out” in vain for his son a similar
calling, and the best intentions have been thwarted by
an early predilection quite in an opposite direction.
We can well account for the father's choice in this
instance, as in keeping with his own aspirations; and
we can easily imagine his disappointment upon abandoning
all hope of seeing one of his blood and color
following specially in the service of his great Master.
The son, however, began betimes to show his early
preference and ultimate passion. At school he was
awarded prizes for declamation, in which he excelled;
and there his curiosity was excited by what he heard
of theatrical representations, which he was told
embodied all the fine ideas shadowed forth in the language
he read and committed to memory. It became
the wish of his heart to witness one of these performances,
and that wish he soon contrived to gratify, and
finally he became a candidate for histrionic fame.

Notwithstanding the progress Ira had made in learning,
no qualities of the mind could compensate, in the
eyes of the Americans, for the dark hue of his skin.
The prevailing prejudice, so strong among all classes,
was against him. This induced his removal to England,
where he entered at the Glasgow University,
and, under Professor Sandford, obtained several
premiums, and the medal for Latin composition.

On leaving college, Mr. Aldridge at once
commenced preparing for the stage, and shortly after
appeared in a number of Shaksperian characters, in
Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, and other provincial
cities, and soon after appeared on the boards of
Drury Lane and Covent Garden, where he was
stamped the “African Roscius.” The London Weekly
Times said of him, “Mr. Ira Aldridge is a dark
mulatto, with woolly hair. His features are capable of
great expression, his action is unrestrained and
picturesque, and his voice clear, full, and resonant. His
powers of energetic declamation are very marked, and
the whole of his acting appears impulsed by a current
of feeling of no inconsiderable weight and vigor, yet
controlled and guided in a manner that clearly shows
the actor to be a person of much study and great
stage ability.” The Morning Chronicle recorded his
“Shylock” as among the “finest pieces of acting that
a London audience had witnessed since the days of
the elder Kean.”

JOSEPH CINQUE.

IN the month of August, 1839, there appeared in
the newspapers a shocking story—that a schooner,
going coastwise from Havana to Neuvitas, in the island
of Cuba, early in July, with about twenty white
passengers, and a large number of slaves, had been seized
by the slaves in the night time, and the passengers and
crew all murdered except two, who made their escape
to land in an open boat. About the 20th of the same
month, a strange craft was seen repeatedly on our
coast, which was believed to be the captured Spanish
coaster, in the possession of the negroes. She was
spoken by several pilot-boats and other vessels, and
partially supplied with water, of which she was very
much in want. It was also said that the blacks
appeared to have a great deal of money. The custom-house
department and the officers of the navy were
instantly roused to go in pursuit of the “pirates,” as the
unknown possessors of the schooner were spontaneously
called. The United States steamer Fulton, and several
revenue cutters were despatched, and notice given to
the collectors at the various seaports. On the 10th of
August, the “mysterious schooner” was near the shore
at Culloden Point, on the east end of Long Island,
where a part of the crew came on shore for water and
fresh provisions, for which they paid with
undiscriminating profuseness. Here they were met by Captain
Green and another gentleman, who stated that they
had in their possession a large box filled with gold.
Shortly after, on the 26th, the vessel was espied by
Captain Gedney, U. S. N., in command of the brig
Washington, employed on the coast survey, who
despatched an officer to board her. The officer found a
large number of negroes, and two Spaniards, Pedro
Montez and Jose Ruiz, one of whom immediately
announced himself as the owner of the negroes, and
claimed his protection. The schooner was thereupon
taken possession of by Captain Gedney.

The leader of the blacks was pointed out by the
Spaniards, and his name given as Joseph Cinque. he
was a native of Africa, and one of the finest
specimens of his race ever seen in this country. As soon
as he saw that the vessel was in the hands of others,
and all hope of his taking himself and countrymen
back to their home land at an end, he leaped overboard
with the agility of an antelope. The small boat
was immediately sent after him, and for two hours did
the sailors strive to capture him before they succeeded.
Cinque swam and dived like an otter, first upon his
back, then upon his breast, sometimes his head out
of water, and sometimes his heels out. His countrymen
on board the captured schooner seemed much
amused at the chase, for they knew Cinque well, and
felt proud of the untamableness of his nature. After
baffling them for a time, he swam towards the
vessel, was taken on board, and secured with the rest of
the blacks, and they were taken into New London,
Connecticut.

The schooner proved to be the “Amistad,” Captain
Ramon Ferrer, from Havana, bound to Principe, about
one hundred leagues distant, with fifty-four negroes
held as slaves, and two passengers instead of twenty.
The Spaniards said that, after being out four days, the
negroes rose in the night, and killed the captain and a
mulatto cook; that the helmsman and another sailor
took to the boat and went on shore; that the only two
whites remaining were the said passengers, Montez and
Ruiz, who were confined below until morning; that
Montez, the elder, who had been a sea captain, was
required to steer the ship for Africa; that he steered
eastwardly in the day time, because the negroes could
tell his course by the sun, but put the vessel about in
the night. They boxed about some days in the
Bahama Channel, and were several times near the islands,
but the negroes would not allow her to enter any port.
Once they were near Long Island, but then put out to
sea again, the Spaniards all the while hoping they might
fall in with some ship of war that would rescue them
from their awkward situation. One of the Spaniards
testified that, when the rising took place, he was awaked
by the noise, and that he heard the captain order the
cabin boy to get some bread and throw to the negroes,
in hope to pacify them. Cinque, however, the leader
of the revolt, leaped on deck, seized a capstan bar, and
attacked the captain, whom he killed at a single blow,
and took charge of the vessel; his authority being
acknowledged by his companions, who knew him as a
prince in his native land.

The captives were taken before the Circuit Court
of the United States for the District of Connecticut,
Hon. Andrew T. Judson presiding. This was only
the commencement in the courts, for the trial ran
through several months. During this time, the Africans
were provided with competent teachers by the
abolitionists, and their minds were undergoing a rapid
change, and civilization was taking the place of
ignorance and barbarism.

Cinque, all this while, did nothing to change the
high opinion first formed of him, and all those who
came into his presence felt themselves before a
superior man. After he and his countrymen had
embraced Christianity, and were being questioned by a
peace man as to the part that they had taken in
the death of the men on board the Amistad, when
asked if they did not think it wrong to take human
life, one of the Africans replied that, if it was to be
acted over again, he would pray for them instead of
killing them; Cinque, hearing this, smiled and shook
his head, whereupon he was asked if he would not
pray for them also. To this he said, “Yes, I would
pray for 'em, an' kill 'em too.”

By the sagacity and daring of this man, he and his
companions, fifty-four in number, were rescued from a
life-long bondage of the worst character that ever
afflicted the human family.

Cinque was a man of great intelligence and natural
ability; he was a powerful orator, and although speaking
in a tongue foreign to his audience, by the grace
and energy of his motions and attitudes, the changeful
expression of his features, and the intonations of his
voice, made them understand the main incidents of
his narrative, and swayed their minds in an extraordinary manner.
Alluding to that point of his history at
which Cinque described how, when on board the Spanish
vessel, he, with the help of a nail, first relieved himself
of his manacles, then assisted his countrymen to
get rid of theirs, and then led them to the attack of
the Spaniards, Lewis Tappan, in the account of the
whole proceedings connected with the Amistad
captives, which he published, says, “It is not in my
power to give an adequate description of Cinque when
he showed how he did this, and led his comrades to
the conflict, and achieved their freedom. In my
younger years I have seen Kemble and Siddons, and
the representation of ‘Othello,’ at Covent Garden;
but no acting that I have ever witnessed came near
that to which I allude.”

ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

I HAD been in Paris a week without seeing Dumas,
for my letter of introduction from Louis Blanc, who
was then in exile in England, to M. Eugene Sue, had
availed me nothing as regarded a sight of the great
colored author. Sue had promised me that I should
have an interview with Dumas before I quitted the
French capital; but I had begun to suspect that the
latter felt that it would be too much of a condescension
to give audience to an American slave, and I began to
grow indifferent myself upon the matter. Invited by
a friend to attend the opera, to witness the performances
of Grisi and Mario, in Norma, I gladly accepted,
and in company with my friend started for the
place of amusement. Our seats were “reserved,” and
I took my place in the immense saloon before raising
my eyes to view the vast audience which had already
assembled. The splendid chandeliers, the hundreds
of brilliant gas lights, the highly-colored drapery that
hung its rich folds about the boxes and stalls, were in
keeping with the magnificent diamonds, laces, and
jewelry, that adorned the persons of the finest assembly
that I had ever seen. In a double box nearly
opposite to me, containing a party of six or eight, I
noticed a light-complexioned mulatto, apparently about
fifty years of age,—curly hair, full face, dressed in a
black coat, white vest, white kids,—who seemed to be
the centre of attraction, not only in his own circle, but
in others. Those in the pit looked up, those in the
gallery looked down, while curtains were drawn aside
at other boxes and stalls to get a sight at the colored
man. So recently from America, where caste was so
injurious to my race, I began to think that it was his
woolly head that attracted attention, when I was
informed that the mulatto before me was no less a person
than Alexandre Dumas. Every move, look, and
gesture of the celebrated romancer were watched in
the closest manner by the audience. Even Mario
appeared to feel that his part on the stage was of less
importance than that of the colored man in the royal
box. M. Dumas' grandfather was the Marquis de la
Pailleterie, a wealthy planter of St. Domingo, while
his grandmother was a negress from Congo.
Rainsford makes honorable mention of the father of Dumas,
in his Black Empire, as having served in the army in
his own native island. Dumas' father served under
Napoleon during the whole of his campaigns, and rose
to high distinction. Once, when near Lisle, Dumas,
with four men, attacked a post of fifty Austrians,
killed six, and made sixteen prisoners. For a long
time he commanded a legion of horse composed of
blacks and mulattoes, who were the terror of their
enemies. General Dumas was with the army which
Napoleon sent over the Alps; Napoleon crossed it in
June, Marshal Macdonald in December. The latter
sent Dumas to say it was impossible to pass in the
winter, when great avalanches of snow were falling
down, threatening to destroy the army. Napoleon's
reply to the messenger was, “Go and tell Marshal
Macdonald, where one man can pass over, an army can pass
over in single file. The order is not to be countermanded.”
The order was obeyed, though at the cost
of many lives. One of the generals that made the
pass was the black General Dumas, who ascended the
St. Bernard, which was defended by a number of
fortifications, took possession of the cannon, and
immediately directed them against the enemy. At the
conclusion of the wars, the father returned to his
island home, and after his death, the son went to
France destitute, where he obtained a situation as a
writer. Here he cultivated his literary taste. His
imaginative mind and unsurpassed energies began to
develop themselves, which soon placed the young man
in easy circumstances. Dumas is now sixty-three
years of age, and has been a writer for the press
thirty-eight years. During this time he has published
more novels, plays, travels, and historical sketches
than any other man that ever lived. It is well understood
that he is not the author of all the works that
appear under his name, but that young writers gain a
living by working out the plots and situations that his
fecund brain suggests. When the novel or the play is
complete, Dumas gives it a revision, touches up the
dialogue, dashes in here and there a spirited scene of
his own, and then receives from the publisher an
enormous sum. Undeniably a man of great genius,
endowed with true fertility of imagination, and masterly
power of expression, his influence has been
great.

Such is the vivacity of his descriptions, such the
entrainement of his narrative, such the boldness of his
invention, such the point of his dialogue, and the rapidity
of his incidents, so matchless often the felicity and
skill of particular passages, that he always inflames
the interest of the reader to the end. You may be
angry with him, but you will confess that he is the
opposite of tedious. Certainly no writer fills a more
prominent place in the literature of his country; and
none has exercised a more potent influence upon its
recent development than this son of the negro general,
Dumas. His novels are every where, and the enthusiasm
with which his dramatic pieces were received has
been of the most flattering character.

HENRI CHRISTOPHE.

HENRI CHRISTOPHE was a native of the island of New
Grenada, where be was born a slave. He went to St.
Domingo at the age of eighteen, and was employed as
maître d'hôtel in the principal café at Cape François.
From strength of natural genius, as well as from his
occupying a station in life above the ordinary condition
of his race, he acquired considerable knowledge of the
prevailing manners and customs of the society of which
he was a daily spectator. He was master of the French,
English, and Spanish languages, and was thought to
be the most polished gentleman of all of Toussaint's
generals. Being six feet three inches in height, Christophe
made an imposing appearance on horseback, on
the field of battle, in his uniform. He had a majestic
carriage, and an eye full of fire; and a braver man
never lived. Though far inferior to Toussaint in vigor
and originality of mind, he was much his superior in
acquaintance with the customs and habits of the world,
and appeared more dignified in his intercourse with
society.

After the breaking out of the revolution, Christophe
joined the army under Toussaint, who soon discovered
his good qualities, and made him his lieutenant; from
which position he was soon advanced to second in command.
It has been asserted that he was an abler
military man than either Toussaint or Dessalines. When
Napoleon's expedition invaded St. Domingo, Leclerc,
with the largest part of the squadron, came to anchor
off Cape City, and summoned the place to surrender.
The reply which he received from Christophe was such
as to teach the captain-general what he had to expect
in the subjugation of St. Domingo. “Go, tell your
general that the French shall march here only over
ashes, and that the ground shall burn beneath their
feet,” was the answer that Leclerc obtained in return
to his command. The French general sent another
messenger to Christophe, urging him to surrender, and
promising the black chief a commission of high rank
in the French army. But he found he had a man, and
not a slave, to deal with. The exasperated Christophe
sent back the heroic reply, “The decision of arms can
admit you only into a city in ashes, and even on these
ashes will I fight still.”

After Toussaint had been captured and sent to
France, and Leclerc was disarming the colored
population, and the decree of the 30th of April for maintaining
slavery in St. Domingo had been put forth,
Christophe followed the example of Clervaux, and
went over to the insurgents, and met and defeated
Rocbambeau in one of the hardest fought battles of the
campaign. He soon after shut the French commander
up in Cape Francois, where the latter remained like a
tiger driven to his den.

During the reign of Dessalines, Christophe lived
partly retired, “biding his time;” for although the
former had been made emperor, the latter was most
beloved by all classes. The death of the emperor at
once opened a way for Christophe, for a provisional
government was then constituted, and the latter was
proclaimed the head of the state. This was a virtual
revolution, and Christophe regarded himself, by the
provisional appointment, as the chief of the army, to
govern ad interim, until a new government could be
formed. But the mulattoes, who had long been in
obscurity, rallied, got a majority in the convention, and
elected Petion president of the republic of Hayti.
Christophe collected together his adherents, and determined
to take by conquest what he thought he had a
right to by succession, and, as he thought, by merit.
Failing in this, he set up another government in the
north, with Cape François as its capital. Christophe
felt that his assumption of power was but a usurpation,
and that, so long as his government remained in operation
without the formal sanction of the people, his rival
at Port au Prince possessed immense advantage over
him, inasmuch as he had been made the constituted
head of the country by an observance of the forms of
the constitution. To remedy this palpable defect,
which weakened his authority, he resolved to frame
another constitution, which would confirm him in the
power he had taken, and furnish him with a legal
excuse for maintaining his present attitude. In accordance
with this policy, he convoked another assembly at
Cape François, composed of the generals of his army
and the principal citizens of that province, and after a
short session the legislators terminated their labors by
adopting another constitution, dated upon the 17th of
February, 1809. This new enactment declared all
persons residing upon the territory of Hayti free citizens,
and that the government was to be administered
by a supreme magistrate, who was to take the title of
president of the state and general-in-chief of the land
and naval forces. Thus firmly seated, Christophe felt
himself more powerful, and more secure from
outbreaks. Nevertheless, he was not destined to hold
peaceable possession of all the territory in his district,
for the inhabitants of many of the towns in the vicinity
of Cape François openly threw off their allegiance, and
proclaimed their preference for the more legitimate
government of Petion. The two presidents prepared
for war, and Christophe opened the campaign by
marching an immense army against Gonaives, which,
in the month of June, 1807, he invested. Petion's
troops were defeated, and, to save themselves from
capture, escaped by sea to Port au Prince. The war
continued three years, when a new competitor
appeared in the person of Rigaud, the other mulatto
general. Christophe now ceased for a while; but when
he felt that the time had arrived he again renewed the
war, and, in 1810, captured the Mole St. Nicholas, the
strongest fort on the island. Becoming ambitious to
be a monarch, Christophe called his council together,
and on the 20th of March, 1811, the session closed by
adopting a new frame of government. The imperial
constitution of 1805 was modified to form an hereditary
monarchy in the north, and to place the crown of
Hayti upon Christophe, under the title of Henry the
First. When he entered upon the kingly station that
had been conferred upon him, his first act was to promulgate
an edict creating an hereditary nobility, as a
natural support of his government. These dignitaries
of the kingdom were taken mostly from the army, the
chiefs who had fought under him in the struggle
against the French, and consisted of two princes, seven
dukes, twenty-two counts, thirty-five barons, and fourteen
chevaliers. His coronation was the most magnificent
display ever witnessed out of Europe. To furnish
himself with all the appointments correspondent to his
royal dignity, he now began the erection of a palace,
situated a few miles from the cape, upon which he had
bestowed the historical name of Sans Souci. This palace
has the reputation of being the most splendid
edifice in the West Indies. The rugged, mountainous
region in the vicinity of his royal residence was
changed from its original condition to form the gardens
of the palace. Hills were levelled with the plain,
deep ravines were filled up, and roads and passages
were opened, leading in all directions from the royal
dwelling. The halls and saloons of the palace were
wrought with mahogany, the floors were laid with rich
marble, and numerous jets-d'eau furnished coolness
and a supply of pure water to the different apartments.
Christophe held a levee on the Thursday evening of
each week, which was attended by the most fashionable
of all classes, including the foreign ambassadors
and consuls. The ceremonial observances were modelled
after the drawing rooms at St. Cloud and St.
James. Though of pure African blood, Christophe was
not a jet black, his complexion being rather a dusky
brown. His person had grown slightly corpulent, and
his address was cold, polished, and graceful. He
possessed a certain air of native dignity that corresponded
well with his high official situation. The whites of all
countries, and especially the English, formed a high
opinion of his character. That part of the island
which came within his rule had been well cultivated,
his government out of debt, and commerce was in a
flourishing condition.

The removal of Napoleon from the throne of France
once more gave to the French planters residing in the
mother country hope of again possessing their estates.
A move was made in the court of Louis XVIII. to
send another expedition to Hayti, to bring the colony
back to her allegiance. On learning this, Christophe
issued a proclamation, in which he said, “If we love
the blessings of peace, we fear not the fatigues and
horrors of war. Let our implacable enemies, the
French colonists, who for twenty years have never
ceased from their projects for the reestablishment of
slavery, and who have filled all the governments of the
earth with their importunities,—let them put themselves
at the head of armies, and direct themselves
against our country. They will be the first victims of
our vengeance, and the soil of liberty will eagerly
drink the blood of our oppressors. We will show to
the nations of the earth what a warlike people can
accomplish, who are in arms for the best of causes—the
defence of their homes, their wives, their children,
their liberty, and their independence.”

A despatch was next sent to Christophe, in which he
was threatened with an invasion by all the forces of
combined Europe in case of his refusal to submit himself
to the will of France. This last threat, however,
had no influence over the black monarch, for he felt
that no European power would invade Hayti after the
failure of the sixty thousand men sent out by Napoleon.
Nothing was attempted by the French, and the
king of Hayti was left in possession of his government.
In the month of August, 1820, Christophe was attacked,
while at mass, with a paralytic disease, and was immediately
conveyed to Sans Souci, where he remained an
invalid until a revolt occurred among his subjects.
He ordered his war-horse, his sword was brought, and
he attempted to mount his charger; but in vain. He
gave up the attempt, retired to his chamber, locked
the door, and the report of a pistol alarmed his
attendants. They rushed in, but it was too late; Henri
Christophe was no more.

Christophe's aims were great, and many of them
good. He was not only the patron of the arts, but
of industry; and it gave him pleasure to see his country
recovering the ground lost in the revolution and
the civil wars, and advancing in name and wealth.
He promoted industry on the principles laid down
by his predecessor, Toussaint. A busy population
covered the land with marks of its labors. Rich
crops of the most coveted produce of nature annually
rewarded the toil of the husbandman. Christophe
was also the patron of education; and there are still
on the island schools that were founded by him when
king. In one respect he excelled Charlemagne,—he
could write his own name; but that was all. He dictated
letters and despatches, and was an admirable
judge of the fitness and relevancy of words. He
kept up a correspondence with Wilberforce and Clarkson,
the English philanthropists, and both of these
distinguished men had a high opinion of him as a man,
and a friend of his race.

PHILLIS WHEATLEY.

IN the year 1761, when Boston had her slave market,
and the descendants of the Pilgrims appeared to
be the most pious and God-fearing people in the world,
Mrs. John Wheatley went into the market one day, for
the purpose of selecting and purchasing a girl for her
own use. Among the group of children just imported
from the African coast was a delicately built, rather
good-looking child of seven or eight years, apparently
suffering from the recent sea voyage and change of
climate. Mrs. Wheatley's heart was touched at the
interesting countenance and humble modesty of this
little stranger. The lady bought the child, and she
was named Phillis. Struck with the slave's uncommon
brightness, the mistress determined to teach her
to read, which she did with no difficulty. The child
soon mastered the English language, with which she
was totally unacquainted when she landed upon the
American shores. Her school lessons were all perfect,
and she drank in the scriptural teachings as
if by intuition. At the age of twelve, she could
write letters and keep up a correspondence that
would have done honor to one double her years. Mrs.
Wheatley, seeing her superior genius, no longer
regarded Phillis as a servant, but took her as a
companion. It was not surprising that the slave girl
should be an object of attraction, astonishment, and
attention with the refined and highly cultivated
society that weekly assembled in the drawing room of
the Wheatleys. As Phillis grew up to womanhood,
her progress and attainments kept pace with the promise
of her earlier years. She drew around her the
best educated of the white ladies, and attracted the
attention and notice of the literary characters of Boston,
who supplied her with books and encouraged the
ripening of her intellectual powers. She studied the
Latin tongue, and translated one of Ovid's tales, which
was no sooner put in print in America, than it was
republished in London, with eloquent commendations
from the reviews. In 1773, a small volume of her
poems, containing thirty-nine pieces, was published in
London, and dedicated to the Countess of Huntingdon.
The genuineness of this work was established in the
first page of the volume, by a document signed by the
governor of Massachusetts, the lieutenant-governor,
her master, and fifteen of the most respectable and
influential citizens of Boston, who were acquainted with
her talents and the circumstances of her life. Her
constitution being naturally fragile, she was advised by
her physician to take a sea voyage as the means of
restoring her declining health.

Phillis was emancipated by her master at the age of
twenty-one years, and sailed for England. On her
arrival, she was received and admired in the first circles
of London society; and it was at that time that her
poems were collected and published in a volume, with
a portrait and memoir of the authoress. Phillis
returned to America, and married Dr. Peters, a man of
her own color, and of considerable talents. Her health
began rapidly to decline, and she died at the age of
twenty-six years, in 1780. Fortunately rescued from
the fate that awaits the victims of the slave trade, this
injured daughter of Africa had an opportunity of
developing the genius that God had given her, and of
showing to the world the great wrong done to her
race. The limited place allowed for this sketch will
not permit of our giving more than one short poem
from the pen of the gifted Phillis Wheatley.

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL.
From dark abodes to fair ethereal light,The enraptured innocent has winged her flight;On the kind bosom of eternal loveShe finds unknown beatitudes above.This know, ye parents, nor her loss deplore—She feels the iron hand of pain no more;The dispensations of unerring graceShould turn your sorrows into grateful praise;Let, then, no tears for her henceforward flowNor stiffer grief in this dark vale below.Her morning sun, which rose divinely bright,Was quickly mantled with the gloom of night;But hear, in heaven's best bowers, your child so fair,And learn to imitate her language there.Thou, Lord, whom I behold with glory crowned,By what sweet name, and in what tuneful sound,Wilt thou be praised? Seraphic powers are faintInfinite love and majesty to paint.To thee let all their grateful voices raise,And saints and angels join their songs of praisePerfect in bliss, now from her heavenly homeShe looks, and, smiling, beckons you to come;Why then, fond parents, why these fruitless groans?Restrain your tears, and cease your plaintive moans.Freed from a world of sin, and snares, and pain,Why would ye wish your fair one back again?Nay, bow resigned; let hope your grief control,And check the rising tumult of the soul.Calm in the prosperous and the adverse day,Adore the God who gives and takes away;See him in all, his holy name revere,Upright your actions, and your hearts sincere,Till, having sailed through life's tempestuous sea,And from its rocks and boisterous billows free,Yourselves, safe landed on the blissful shore,Shall join your happy child to part no more.
DENMARK VESEY.

No class of persons in the world, who have the
name of being free, are more sorely oppressed than
the free colored people of the Southern States. Each
state has its code of black laws, which are rigorously
enforced, and the victim made to feel his degradation
at all times and in all places. An undeveloped discontent
pervades the entire black population, bond
and free, in all the slave states. Human bondage is
ever fruitful of insurrection, wherever it exists, and
under whatever circumstances it may be found.
Every community the other side of “Dixon's Line” feels
that it lives upon a volcano that is liable to burst out at
any moment; and all are watchful, and fearfully in
earnest, in looking after the colored man's affairs, and
inventing sterner enactments to keep him in subjection.
The most oppressive of all the states is South
Carolina. In Charleston, free colored ladies are not
allowed to wear veils about their faces in the streets,
or in any public places. A violation of this law is
visited with “thirty-nine lashes upon the bare back.”
The same is inflicted upon any free colored man who
shall be seen upon the streets with a cigar in his mouth,
or a walking stick in his band. Both, when walking
the streets, are forbidden to take the inside of the
pavement. Punishment of fine and imprisonment is
laid upon any found out after the hour of nine at
night. An extra tax is placed upon every member of
a free colored family. While all these odious edicts
were silently borne by the free colored people of
Charleston in 1822 there was a suppressed feeling
of indignation, mortification, and discontent, that was
only appreciated by a few. Among the most dissatisfied
of the free blacks was Denmark Vesey, a man
who had purchased his freedom in the year 1800, and
since that time had earned his living by his trade,
being a carpenter and joiner. Having been employed
on shipboard by his master, Captain Vesey, Denmark
had soon a great deal of the world, and had acquired
a large fund of information, and was regarded as a
leading man among the blacks. He had studied the
Scriptures, and never lost an opportunity of showing
that they were opposed to chattel-slavery. He spoke
freely with the slaves upon the subject, and often
with whites, where he found he could do so without
risk to his own liberty. After resolving to incite the
slaves to rebellion, he began taking into his confidence
such persons as be could trust, and instructing them
to gain adherents from among the more reliable of
both bond and free. Peter Poyas, a slave of more
than ordinary foresight and ability, was selected by
Vesey as his lieutenant; and to him was committed
the arduous duty of arranging the mode of attack, and
of acting as the military leader.

“His plans showed some natural generalship; he
arranged the night attack; he planned the enrolment
of a mounted troop to scour the streets; and he had a
list of all the shops where arms and ammunition were
kept for sale. He voluntarily undertook the management
of the most difficult part of the enterprise,—the
capture of the main guard-house,—and had pledged
himself to advance alone and surprise the sentinel.
He was said to have a magnetism in his eye, of which
his confederates stood in great awe; if he once got his
eye upon a man, there was no resisting it.”

Gullah Jack, Tom Russell, and Ned Bennett. The
last two were not less valuable than Peter Poyas; for
Tom was an ingenious mechanic, and made battleaxes,
pikes, and other instruments of death, with
which to carry on the war. All of the above were
to be generals of brigades, and were let into all the
secrets of the intended rising. It has long been the
custom in Charleston for the country slaves to visit
the city in great numbers on Sunday, and return to
their homes in time to commence work on the following
morning. It was therefore determined by Denmark
to have the rising take place on Sunday. The
slaves of nearly every plantation in the vicinity were
enlisted, and were to take part.

“The details of the plan, however, were not rashly
committed to the mass of the confederates; they were
known only to a few, and were finally to have been
announced after the evening prayer-meeting on the
appointed Sunday. But each leader had his own
company enlisted, and his own work marked out.
When the clock struck twelve, all were to move.
Peter Poyas was to lead a party ordered to assemble
at South Bay, and to be joined by a force from James's
Island; he was then to march up and seize the arsenal
and guard-house opposite St. Michael's Church, and
detach a sufficient number to cut off all white citizens
who should appear at the alarm posts. A second body
of negroes, from the country and the Neck, headed by
Ned Bennett, was to assemble on the Neck and seize the
arsenal there. A third was to meet at Governor Bennett's
Mills, under command of Rolla, another leader,
and, after putting the governor and intendant to death,
to march through the city, or be posted at Cannon's
Bridge, thus preventing the inhabitants of Cannonsborough
from entering the city. A fourth, partly from
the country and partly from the neighboring localities
in the city, was to rendezvous on Gadsden's Wharf
and attack the upper guard-house. A fifth, composed
of country and Neck negroes, was to assemble at
Bulkley's farm, two miles and a half from the city,
seize the upper powder magazine, and then march
down; and a sixth was to assemble at Denmark
Vesey's and obey his orders. A seventh detachment,
under Gullah Jack, was to assemble in Boundary
Street, at the head of King Street, to capture the arms
of the Neck company of militia, and to take an additional
supply from Mr. Duquercron's shop. The
naval stores on Mey's Wharf were also to be attacked.
Meanwhile a horse company, consisting of many draymen,
hostlers, and butcher boys, was to meet at Lightwood's
Alley, and then scour the streets to prevent the
whites from assembling. Every white man coming
out of his own door was to be killed, and, if necessary,
the city was to be fired in several places—slow match
for this purpose having been purloined from the public
arsenal and placed in an accessible position.”

The secret and plan of attack, however, were
incautiously divulged to a slave named Devany, belonging
to Colonel Prioleau, and he at once informed his
master's family. The mayor, on getting possession of the
facts, called the city council together for consultation.
The investigation elicited nothing new, for the slaves
persisted in their ignorance of the matter, and the
authorities began to feel that they had been imposed
upon by Devany and his informant, when another of
the conspirators, being bribed, revealed what he knew.
Arrests after arrests were made, and the Mayor's
Court held daily examinations for weeks. After several
weeks of incarceration, the accused, one hundred
and twenty in number, were brought to trial: thirty-four
were sentenced to transportation, twenty-seven
acquitted by the court, twenty-five discharged without
trial, and thirty-five condemned to death. With but
two or three exceptions, all of the conspirators went
to the gallows feeling that they had acted right, and
died like men giving their lives for the cause of freedom.
A report of the trial, written soon after, says
of Denmark Vesey,—

“For several years before he disclosed his intentions
to any one, he appears to have been constantly and
assiduously engaged in endeavoring to embitter the
minds of the colored population against the white.
He rendered himself perfectly familiar with all those
parts of the Scriptures which he thought he could pervert
to his purpose, and would readily quote them to prove
that slavery was contrary to the laws of God,—that
slaves were bound to attempt their emancipation, however
shocking and bloody might be the consequences,
—and that such efforts would not only be pleasing to
the Almighty, but were absolutely enjoined, and their
success predicted, in the Scriptures. His favorite
texts, when he addressed those of his own color, were
Zechariah xiv. 1-3, and Joshua vi. 21; and in all his
conversations he identified their situation with that
of the Israelites. The number of inflammatory pamphlets
on slavery brought into Charleston from some
of our sister states within the last four years, (and
Once from Sierra Leone,) and distributed amongst the
colored population of the city, for which there was a
great facility, in consequence of the unrestricted intercourse
allowed to persons of color between the different
states in the Union, and the speeches in Congress
of those opposed to the admission of Missouri into the
Union, perhaps garbled and misrepresented, furnished
him with ample means for inflaming the minds of the
colored population of this state; and by distorting
certain parts of those speeches, or selecting from them
particular passages, he persuaded but too many that
Congress had actually declared them free, and that
they were held in bondage contrary to the laws of the
land. Even whilst walking through the streets in
company with another, he was not idle; for if his
companion bowed to a white person, he would rebuke him,
and observe that all men were born equal, and that he
was surprised that any one would degrade himself by
such conduct,—that he would never cringe to the
whites, nor ought any one who had the feelings of a
man. When answered, ‘We are slaves,’ he would
sarcastically and indignantly reply, ‘You deserve to
remain slaves;’ and if he were further asked, ‘What
can we do?’ he would remark, ‘Go and buy a spelling-book
and read the fable of Hercules and the
Wagoner,’ which he would then repeat, and apply it
to their situation. He also sought every opportunity
of entering into conversation with white persons, when
they could be overheard by negroes near by, especially
in grog shops; during which conversation, he would
artfully introduce some bold remark on slavery; and
sometimes, when, from the character he was conversing
with, he found he might be still bolder, he would go
so far, that, had not his declarations in such situations
been clearly proved, they would scarcely have been
credited. He continued this course until some time
after the commencement of the last winter; by which
time he had not only obtained incredible influence
amongst persons of color, but many feared him more
than their owners, and, one of them declared, even
more than his God.”

The excitement which the revelations of the trial
occasioned, and the continual fanning of the flame by
the newspapers, were beyond description. Double guard
in the city, the country patrol on horseback and on
foot, the watchfulness that was observed on all plantations,
showed the deep feeling of fear pervading the
hearts of the slaveholders, not only in South Carolina,
but the fever extended to the other Southern States,
and all seemed to feel that a great crisis had been
passed. And indeed, their fears seem not to have
been without ground, for a more complicated plan for
an insurrection could scarcely have been conceived.
And many were of opinion that, the rising once begun,
they would have taken the city and held it, and might
have sealed the fate of slavery in the south. The best
account of this whole matter is to be found in an able
article in the Atlantic Monthly for June, 1861, from
the pen of that eloquent friend of freedom T. W.
Higginson, and to which I am indebted for the extracts
contained in this memoir of Denmark Vesey.

HENRY HIGHLAND GARNETT.

Though born a slave in the State of Maryland, Henry
Highland Garnett is the son of an African chief, stolen
from the coast of his native land. His father's family
were all held as slaves till 1822, when they escaped to
the north. In 1835, he became a member of Canaan
Academy, New Hampshire. Three months after
entering the school, it was broken up by a mob, who
destroyed the building. Mr. Garnett afterwards
entered Oneida Institute, New York, under the charge
of that noble-hearted friend of man, Beriah Green,
where he was treated with equality by the professors
and his fellow-students. There he gained the reputation
of a courteous and accomplished man, an able
and eloquent debater, and a good writer. His first
appearance as a public speaker was in 1837, in the city
of New York, where his speech at once secured for him
a standing among first-class orators. Mr. Garnett is
in every sense of the term a progressive man. He is
a strenuous advocate of freedom, temperance, education,
and the religious, moral, and social elevation of
his race. He is an acceptable preacher, evangelical in
his profession. His discourses, though showing much
thought and careful study, are delivered extemporaneously,
and with good effect. Having complete command
of his voice, he uses it with skill, never failing
to fill the largest hall. One of the most noted
addresses ever given by a colored man in this country
was delivered by Mr. Garnett at the National Convention
of Colored Americans, at Buffalo, New York, in
1843. None but those who heard that speech have
the slightest idea of the tremendous influence which
he exercised over the assembly. He spent some years
over a church at Troy, and another at Geneva, New
York, and in 1850 visited England, where he
remained, lecturing, in different sections of the United
Kingdom, upon American slavery, until 1852, we
believe, when, being joined by his family, he went as a
missionary to Jamaica. After spending three years
among the people of that island, he returned to the
United States, and is now settled over Shiloh Church,
New York city. Mr. Garnett is about forty-five years
of age, unadulterated in race, tall and commanding
in appearance, has an eye that looks through you, and
a clear, ringing voice. He has written considerably,
and has edited one or two journals at different times,
devoted to the elevation of his race. The following
from his pen will give but a faint idea of Mr. Garnett's
powers as a writer:—

“The woful volume of our history, as it now lies
open to the world, is written with tears and bound with
blood. As I trace it, my eyes ache and my heart is
filled with grief. No other people have suffered so
much, and none have been more innocent. If I might
apostrophize that bleeding country, I would say, O
Africa, thou hast bled, freely bled, at every pore. Thy
sorrow has been mocked, and thy grief has not been
heeded. Thy children are scattered over the whole
earth, and the great nations have been enriched by
them. The wild beasts of thy forests are treated with
more mercy than they. The Libyan lion and the fierce
tiger are caged, to gratify the curiosity of men, and the
keeper's hands are not laid heavily upon them. But
thy children are tortured, taunted, and hurried out of
life by unprecedented cruelty. Brave men, formed in
the divinest mould, are bartered, sold, and mortgaged.
Stripped of every sacred right, they are scourged if
they affirm that they belong to God. Women, sustaining
the dear relation of mothers, are yoked with the
horned cattle to till the soil, and their heart-strings are
torn to pieces by cruel separations from their children.
Our sisters, ever manifesting the purest kindness,
whether in the wilderness of their fatherland, or amid
the sorrows of the middle passage, or in crowded cities,
are unprotected from the lust of tyrants. They have
a regard for virtue, and they possess a sense of honor;
but there is no respect paid to these jewels of noble
character. Driven into unwilling concubinage, their
offspring are sold by their Anglo-Saxon fathers. To
them the marriage institution is but a name, for their
despoilers break down the hymeneal altar, and scatter
its sacred ashes on the winds.

“Our young men are brutalized in intellect, and
their manly energies are chilled by the frosts of slavery.
Sometimes they are called to witness the agonies of
the mothers who bore them, writhing under the lash;
and as if to fill to overflowing the already full cup of
demonism, they are sometimes compelled to apply the
lash with their own hands. Hell itself cannot over-match
a deed like this; and dark damnation shudders
as it sinks into its bosom, and seeks to hide itself from
the indignant eye of God.”

Mr. Garnett paid a second visit to England a few
months since, for the purpose of creating an interest
there in behalf of emigration to Central Africa.

JAMES M. WHITFIELD.

THERE has long resided in Buffalo, New York, a
barber, noted for his scholarly attainments and gentlemanly
deportment. Men of the most polished refinement
visit his saloon, and, while being shaved, take
pleasure in conversing with him; and all who know
him feel that he was intended by nature for a higher
position in life. This is James M. Whitfield. He is
a native of Massachusetts, and removed west some
years since. We give a single extract from one of
his poems.

“How long, O gracious God, how longShall power lord it over right?The feeble, trampled by the strong,Remain in slavery's gloomy night?In every region of the earthOppression rules with iron power;And every man of sterling worth,Whose soul disdains to cringe or cowerBeneath a haughty tyrant's nod,And, supplicating, kiss the rodThat, wielded by oppression's might,Smites to the earth his dearest right,—The right to speak, and think, and feel,And spread his uttered thoughts abroad,To labor for the common weal,Responsible to none but God,—Is threatened with the dungeon's gloom,The felon's cell, the traitor's doom,And treacherous politicians leagueWith hireling priests to crush and banAll who expose their vain intrigue,And vindicate the rights of man.How long shall Afric raise to theeHer fettered hand, O Lord, in vain,And plead in fearful agonyFor vengeance for her children slain?I see the Gambia's swelling flood,And Niger's darkly-rolling wave,Bear on their bosoms, stained with blood,The bound and lacerated slave;While numerous tribes spread near and farFierce, devastating, barbarous war,Earth's fairest scenes in ruin laid,To furnish victims for that tradeWhich breeds on earth such deeds of shame,As fiends might blush to hear or name.”

Mr. Whitfield has written several long poems, all of
them in good taste and excellent language.

ANDRE RIGAUD.

SLAVERY, in St. Domingo, created three classes—
the white planters, the free mulattoes, and the slaves,
the latter being all black. The revolution brought out
several valiant chiefs among the mulattoes, their first
being Vincent Oge. This man was not calculated for
a leader of rebellion. His mother having been enabled
to support him in France as a gentleman, he had cherished
a delicacy of sentiment very incompatible with
the ferocity of revolt. But Andre Rigaud, their next
and greatest chief, was a far different man. A native
of Aux Cayes, educated at Bourdeaux, and afterwards
spending some time at Paris, maturing his mind amid
scenes of science and literature, Rigaud's position
among his followers was an exalted one. His father
was white and his mother black. He was tall and
slim, with features beautifully defined. Nature had
been profligate in bestowing her gifts upon him.

While at the Military School at Paris, besides being
introduced into good society, he became acquainted
with Lafayette, Condorcet, Gregoire, and other
distinguished statesmen, and his manners were polished
and his language elegant. In religion he was the
very opposite of Toussaint. An admirer of Voltaire
and Rousseau, he had made their works his study.
A long residence in the French metropolis had
enabled him to become acquainted with the followers of
these two distinguished philosophers. He had seen
two hundred thousand persons following the bones of
Voltaire, when removed to the Pantheon, and, in his
admiration for the great author, had confounded liberty
with infidelity. In Asia, he would have governed
an empire; in St. Domingo, he was scarcely more than
an outlawed chief; but be had in his soul the elements
of a great man. In military science, horsemanship,
and activity, Rigaud was the first man on the island,
of any color. Toussaint bears the following testimony
to the great skill of the mulatto general: “I know
Rigaud well. He leaps from his horse when at full
gallop, and he puts all his force in his arm when he
strikes a blow.” He was high-tempered, irritable,
and haughty. The charmed power that he held over
the men of his color can scarcely be described. At
the breaking out of the revolution, he headed the
mulattoes in his native town, and soon drew around him
a formidable body of men.

After driving the English and Spaniards from the
island, and subduing the French planters, Toussaint
and Rigaud made war upon each other. As the
mulattoes were less than fifty thousand in number, and
the blacks more than five hundred thousand, Rigaud
was always outnumbered on the field of battle; but
his forces, fighting under the eyes of the general
whom they adored, defended their territory with
vigor, if not with success. Reduced in his means of
defence by the loss of so many brave men in his
recent battles, Rigaud had the misfortune to see his
towns fall, one after another, into the power of
Toussaint, until he was driven to the last citadel of his
strength—the town of Aux Cayes. As he thus
yielded foot by foot, every thing was given to desolation
before it was abandoned, and the land, which
under his active government had just before been so
adorned with cultivation, was made such a waste of
desolation, that, according almost to the very letter of
his orders, “the trees were turned with their roots in
the air.” The genius and activity of Toussaint were
completely at fault in his attempt to force the mulatto
general from his intrenchments.

The government of France was too much engaged
at home with her own revolution to pay any attention
to St. Domingo. The republicans in Paris, after getting
rid of their enemies, turned upon each other.
The revolution, like Saturn, devoured its own children;
priest and people were murdered upon the
thresholds of justice. Murat died at the hands of
Charlotte Corday. Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
were guillotined, Robespierre had gone to the scaffold,
and Bonaparte was master of France.

The conqueror of Egypt now turned his attention
to St. Domingo. It was too important an island to be
lost to France or destroyed by civil war, and, through
the mediation of Bonaparte, the war between Toussaint
and Rigaud was brought to a close.

Petion and several other generals followed Rigaud
when, at the conclusion of his war with Toussaint, he
embarked for France. When Napoleon's ill-fated expedition
came to St. Domingo, Rigaud returned, made
his appearance at Aux Cayes, and, under his influence,
the south soon rallied in arms against Toussaint.
He fought bravely for France until the subjugation of
the blacks and the transportation of their chief to the
mother country, when Napoleon felt that Rigaud, too,
was as dangerous to the peace of St. Domingo as
Toussaint, and he was once more forced to return to
France. Here he was imprisoned—not for any thing
that he had done against the government of Bonaparte,
but for fear that the mulatto chief would return to
his native island, take up arms, and assist his race,
who were already in rebellion against Leclerc.

Although the whites and the free colored men were
linked together by the tender ties of nature, there
was, nevertheless, a hatred to each other, even stronger
than between the whites and the blacks. In the
earlier stages of the revolution, before the blacks
under Toussaint got the ascendency, several attempts
had been made to get rid of the leaders of the
mulattoes, and especially Rigaud. He was hated by the
whites in the same degree as they feared his all-powerful
influence with his race, and the unyielding nature
of his character, which gave firmness and consistency
to his policy while controlling the interests of his
brethren. Intrigue and craftiness could avail nothing
against the designs of one who was ever upon the
watch, and who had the means of counteracting all
secret attempts against him; and open force, in the
field, could not be successful in destroying a chieftain
whose power was often felt, but whose person was seldom
seen. Thus, to accomplish a design which had
long been in meditation, the whites of Aux Cayes were
now secretly preparing a mine for Rigaud, which,
though it was covered with roses, and to be sprung
by professed friends, it was thought would prove a
sure and efficacious method of ridding them of such
an opponent, and destroying the pretensions of the
mulattoes forever. It was proposed that the anniversary
of the destruction of the Bastile should be
celebrated in the town by both whites and mulattoes,
in union and gratitude. A civic procession marched
to the church, where Te Deum was chanted and all
oration pronounced. The Place d'Armes was crowded
with tables of refreshments, at which both whites and
mulattoes seated themselves. But beneath this seeming
patriotism and friendship, a dark and fatal conspiracy
lurked, plotting treachery and death. It had
been resolved that, at a preconcerted signal, every
white at the table should plunge his knife into the
bosom of the mulatto who was seated nearest to him.
Cannon had been planted around the place of festivity,
that no fugitive from the massacre should have
the means of escaping; and that Rigaud should not
fail to be secured as the first victim of a conspiracy
prepared especially against his life, the commander-in-chief
of the National Guard had been placed at his
side, and his murder of the mulatto chieftain was to
be the signal for a general onset upon all his followers.
The officer to whom had been intrusted the assassination
of Rigaud, found it no small matter to screw his
courage up to the sticking point, and the expected
signal, which he was to display in blood to his associates,
was so long delayed, that secret messengers
began to throng to him from all parts of the tables,
demanding why execution was not done on Rigaud.
Urged on by these successive appeals, the white general
at last applied himself to the fatal task which had
been allotted him; but instead of silently plunging
his dagger into the bosom of the mulatto chief, he
sprung upon him with a pistol in his hand, and, with
a loud execration, fired it at his intended victim.
But Rigaud remained unharmed, and, in the scuffle
which ensued, the white assassin was disarmed and
put to flight. The astonishment of the mulattoes
soon gave way to tumult and indignation, and this
produced a drawn battle, in which both whites and
mulattoes, exasperated as they were to the utmost,
fought man to man. The struggle continued fiercely
until the whites were driven from the town, having
lost one hundred and fifty of their number, and slain
many of their opponents.

Tidings of this conspiracy flew rapidly in all directions;
and such was the indignation of the mulattoes
at this attack upon their chief, whose death had even
been announced in several places as certain, that they
seized upon all the whites within their reach; and
their immediate massacre was only prevented by the
arrival of intelligence that Rigaud was still alive.
Such were the persecutions which the leader of the
mulattoes, now in exile, had experienced in his own
land. Napoleon kept him confined in the prison of
the Temple first, and then at the castle of Joux, where
Toussaint had ended his life.

During this time, St. Domingo was undergoing a
great change. Leclerc had died, Rochambeau and
his forces had been driven from the island, Dessalines
had reigned and passed away, and Christophe was
master of the north, and Petion of the south. These
two generals were at war with each other, when they
were both very much surprised at the arrival of
Rigaud from France. He had escaped from his
prison, made his way to England, and thence to the
island by way of the United States. Petion, the president
of the republic in the south, regarded Rigaud as
a more formidable enemy than Christophe. The great
mulatto general was welcomed with enthusiasm by
his old adherents; they showed the most sincere
respect and attachment for him, and he journeyed in
triumph to Port au Prince. Though Petion disliked
these demonstrations in favor of a rival, he dared not
attempt to interfere, for he well knew that a single
word from Rigaud could raise a revolt among the mulattoes.
Petion, himself a mulatto, had served under
the former in the first stages of the revolution. The
people of Aux Cayes welcomed their chief to his home,
and he drew around him all hearts, and in a short
time Rigaud was in full possession of his ancient
power. The government of Petion was divided to
make room for the former chief, and, though the two
leaders for a while flew to arms against each other,
they, nevertheless, were driven to an alliance on
account of the encroachments of Christophe.

After a reign that was fraught only with tumult to
himself and followers, Rigaud abdicated his province,
retired to his farm, and in a few weeks died. Thus
ended the career of the most distinguished mulatto
general of which St. Domingo could boast.

FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS.

MISS WATKINS is a native of Baltimore, where she
received her education. She has been before the public
some years as an author and public lecturer. Her
“Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects,” published in a
small volume, show a reflective mind and no ordinary
culture. Her “Essay on Christianity” is a beautiful
composition. Many of her poems are soul-stirring, and
all are characterized by chaste language and much
thought. The following is entitled

THE SLAVE MOTHER.
Heard you that shriek? It roseSo wildly on the air,It seemed as if a burdened heartWas breaking in despair.Saw you those hands so sadly clasped,The bowed and feeble head,The shuddering of that fragile form,That look of grief and dread?Saw you the sad, imploring eye?Its every glance was pain,As if a storm of agonyWere sweeping through the brain.She is a mother pale with fear;Her boy clings to her side,And in her kirtle vainly triesHis trembling form to hide.He is not hers, although she boreFor him a mother's pains;He is not hers, although her bloodIs coursing through his veins.He is not hers, for cruel handsMay rudely tear apartThe only wreath of household loveThat binds her breaking heart.His love has been a joyous lightThat o'er her pathway smiled,A fountain, gushing ever new,Amid life's desert wild.His lightest word has been a toneOf music round her heart;Their lives a streamlet blent in one—O Father, must they part?They tear him from her circling arms,Her last and fond embrace;O, never more may her sad eyesGaze on his mournful face.No marvel, then, these bitter shrieksDisturb the listening air;She is a mother, and her heartIs breaking in despair.

Miss Watkins's advice to her own sex on the selection
of a husband should be appreciated by all.

Nay, do not blush! I only heardYou had a mind to marry;I thought I'd speak a friendly wordSo just one moment tarry.Wed not a man whose merit liesIn things of outward show,In raven hair or flashing eyes,That please your fancy so.But marry one who's good and kind,And free from all pretence;Who, if without a gifted mind,At least has common sense.

Miss Watkins is about thirty years of age, of a fragile form,
rather nervous, keen and witty in conversation,
outspoken in her opinions, and yet appears in all
the simplicity of a child.

EX-PRESIDENT ROBERTS.

J. J. ROBERTS, ex-president of the Republic of Liberia,
is a native of the Old Dominion, and emigrated
to his adopted country about twenty-five years ago. In
stature he is tall, slim, and has a commanding appearance,
sharp features, pleasant countenance, and is what
the ladies would call “good looking.” Mr. Roberts
has much the bearing of an “English gentleman.”
He has fine abilities, and his state papers will compare
favorably with the public documents of any of the
presidents of the United States. He is thoroughly
devoted to the interest of the rising republic, and has
visited Europe several times in her behalf.

The following extract from the inaugural address
of President Roberts to the legislature of Liberia, in
1848, on the colonists taking the entire responsibility
of the government, is eloquent and pointed:—

“It must afford the most heartfelt pleasure and satisfaction
to every friend of Liberia, and real lover of
liberty, to observe by what a fortunate train of circumstances
and incidents the people of these colonies have
arrived at absolute freedom and independence. When
we look abroad and see by what slow and painful steps,
marked with blood and ills of every kind, other states
of the world have advanced to liberty and independence,
we cannot but admire and praise that all-gracious
Providence, who, by his unerring ways, has, with
so few sufferings on our part, compared with other
states, led us to this happy stage in our progress towards
those great and important objects. That it is
the will of Heaven that mankind should be free, is
clearly evidenced by the wealth, vigor, virtue, and consequent
happiness of all free states. But the idea that
Providence will establish such governments as he shall
deem most fit for his creatures, and will give them
wealth, influence, and happiness without their efforts,
is palpably absurd. God's moral government of the
earth is always performed by the intervention of second
causes. Therefore, fellow-citizens, while with pious
gratitude we survey the frequent interpositions of
Heaven in our behalf, we ought to remember, that as
the disbelief of an overruling Providence is atheism,
so an absolute confidence of having our government
relieved from every embarrassment, and its citizens
made respectable and happy by the immediate hand
of God, without our own exertions, is the most culpable
presumption. Nor have we any reason to expect,
that he will miraculously make Liberia a paradise,
and deliver us, in a moment of time, from all the ills
and inconveniences consequent upon the peculiar
circumstances under which we are placed, merely to
convince us that he favors our cause and government.

“Sufficient indications of his will are always given,
and those who will not then believe, neither would
they believe though one should rise from the dead to
inform them. Who can trace the progress of these
colonies, and mark the incidents of the wars in which
they have been engaged, without seeing evident tokens
of providential favor. Let us, therefore, inflexibly
persevere in exerting our most strenuous efforts in a
humble and rational dependence on the great Governor
of all the world, and we have the fairest prospects of
surmounting all the difficulties which may be thrown
in our way. That we may expect, and that we shall
have, difficulties, sore difficulties, yet to contend against
in our progress to maturity, is certain; and, as the
political happiness or wretchedness of ourselves and
our children, and of generations yet unborn, is in our
hands,—nay, more, the redemption of Africa from the
deep degradation, superstition, and idolatry in which
she has so long been involved,—it becomes us to lay
our shoulders to the wheel, and manfully resist every
obstacle which may oppose our progress in the great
work which lies before us.”

Mr. Roberts, we believe, is extensively engaged in
commerce and agriculture, and, though out of office,
makes himself useful in the moral, social, and intellectual
elevation of his brethren. No one is more respected,
or stands higher, in Liberia than he.

ALEXANDER CRUMMELL.

AMONG the many bright examples of the black man
which we present, one of the foremost is Alexander
Crummell. Blood unadulterated, a tall and manly
figure, commanding in appearance, a full and musical
voice, fluent in speech, a graduate of Cambridge University,
England, a mind stored with the richness of
English literature, competently acquainted with the
classical authors of Greece and Rome, from the grave
Thucydides to the rhapsodical Lycophron, gentlemanly
in all his movements, language chaste and refined, Mr.
Crummell may well be put forward as one of the best
and most favorable representatives of his race. He is
a clergyman of the Episcopal denomination, and deeply
versed in theology. His sermons are always written,
but he reads them as few persons can. In 1848 Mr.
Crummell visited England, and delivered a well-conceived
address before the Anti-Slavery Society in London,
where his eloquence and splendid abilities were
at once acknowledged and appreciated. The year before
his departure for the old world, he delivered a
“Eulogy on the Life and Character of Thomas Clarkson,”
from which we make the following extract, which
is full of meaning and eloquence:—

“Let us not be unmindful of the prerogatives and
obligations arising from the fact, that the exhibition of
the greatest talent, and the development of the most
enlarged philanthropy, in the nineteenth century, have
been bestowed upon our race. The names of the great
lights of the age,—statesmen, poets, and divines,—in
all the great countries of Europe, and in this country
too, are inseparably connected with the cause and destiny
of the African race. This has been the theme
whence most of them have reaped honor and immortality.
This cause has produced the development of
the most noble character of modern times—has given
the world a Wilberforce and a Clarkson. Lowly and
depressed as we have been, and as we now are, yet
our interests and our welfare have agitated the chief
countries of the world, and are now before all other
questions, shaking this nation to its very centre. The
providences of God have placed the negro race before
Europe and America in the most commanding position.
From the sight of us no nation, no statesman, no ecclesiastic,
and no ecclesiastical institution, can escape.
And by us and our cause the character and greatness
of individuals and of nations in this day and generation
of the world are to be decided, either for good or evil;
and so, in all coming times, the memory and the fame
of the chief actors now on the stage will be decided by
their relation to our cause. The discoveries of science,
the unfoldings of literature, the dazzlings of genius, all
fade before the demands of this cause. This is the age
of BROTHERHOOD AND HUMANITY, and the negro race is
its most distinguished test and criterion.

“And for what are all these providences? For
nothing? He who thinks so must be blinded—must
be demented. In these facts are wound up a most
distinct significance, and with them are connected most
clear and emphatic obligations and responsibilities.
The clear-minded and thoughtful colored men of
America must mark the significance of these facts, and
begin to feel their weight. For more than two centuries
we have been working our way from the deep and
dire degradation into which slavery had plunged us.
We have made considerable headway. By the vigorous
use of the opportunities of our partial freedom we
have been enabled, with the divine blessing, to reach
a position of respectability and character. We have
pressed somewhat into the golden avenues of science,
intelligence, and learning. We have made impressions
there; and some few of our footprints have we left
behind. The mild light of religion has illumined our
pathway, and superstition and error have fled apace.
The greatest paradoxes are evinced by us. Amid the
decay of nations, a rekindled light starts up in us.
Burdens under which others expire seem to have lost
their influence upon us; and while they are ‘driven to
the wall,’ destruction keeps far from us its blasting
hand. We live in the region of death, yet seem hardly
mortal. We cling to life in the midst of all reverses;
and our nerveful grasp thereon cannot easily be relaxed.
History reverses its mandates in our behalf:
our dotage is in the past. ‘Time writes not its wrinkles
on our brow;’ our juvenescence is in the future.
All this, and the kindly nature which is acknowledgedly
ours,—with gifts of freedom vouchsafed us by the
Almighty in this land, in part, and in the West Indies;
with the intellectual desire every where manifesting
itself, and the exceeding interest exhibited for Africa
by her own children, and by the Christian nations of
the world, are indications from which we may not
gather a trivial meaning, nor a narrow significance.

“The teaching of God in all these things is, undoubtedly,
that ours is a great destiny, and that we
should open our eyes to it. God is telling us all that,
whereas the past has been dark, grim, and repulsive,
the future shall be glorious; that the horrid traffic
shall yet be entirely stopped; that the whips and
brands, the shackles and fetters, of slavery shall be cast
down to oblivion; that the shades of ignorance and
superstition that have so long settled down upon the
mind of Africa shall be dispelled; and that all her
sons on her own broad continent, in the Western Isles,
and in this Republic, shall yet stand erect beneath the
heavens, ‘with freedom chartered on their manly
brows;’ their bosoms swelling with its noblest raptures
—treading the face of earth in the links of brotherhood
and equality.”

We have had a number of our public men to represent
us in Europe within the past twenty-five years
and none have done it more honorably or with better
success to the character and cause of the black man,
than Alexander Crummell. We met him there again
and again, and followed in his track wherever he
preached or spoke before public assemblies, and we
know whereof we affirm. In 1852, we believe, he
went to Liberia, where he now resides. At present he
and his family are on a visit to “the States,” partly for
his health and partly for the purpose of promoting
emigration to Africa. Mr. C. has recently published a
valuable work on Africa, which is highly spoken of by
the press; indeed, it may be regarded as the only
finished account of our mother land. Devotedly
attached to the interest of the colored man, and having
the moral, social, and intellectual elevation of the
natives of Africa at heart, we do not regret that he considers
it his duty to labor in his father land. Warmly
interested in the Republic, and so capable of filling
the highest position that he can be called to, we shall
not be surprised, some day, to bear that Alexander
Crummell is president of Liberia.

ALEXANDRE PETION.

THE ambitious and haughty mulattoes had long been
dissatisfied with the obscure condition into which they
had been thrown by the reign of Dessalines, and at the
death of that ruler they determined to put forward
their claim. Their great chief, Rigaud, was still in
prison in France, where he had been placed by Napoleon.
Christophe had succeeded to power at the close
of the empire, and was at St. Marks when he heard
that Alexandre Petion had been elected president of
the Republic of Hayti, through the instrumentality of
the mulattoes. Christophe at once began to prepare
for war. Petion was a quadroon, the successor of
Rigaud and Clervaux to the confidence of the mulattoes.
He was a man of education and refined manners.
He had been educated at the Military School of
Paris, and had ever been characterized for his mildness
of temper and the insinuating grace of his address. He
was a skilful engineer, and at the time of his elevation
to power he passed for the most scientific officer and
the most erudite individual among the people of Hayti.
Attached to the fortunes of Rigaud, he had acted as
his lieutenant against Toussaint, and had accompanied
him to France. Here he remained until the departure
of the expedition under Leclerc, when he embarked in
that disastrous enterprise, to employ his talents in
again restoring his country to the dominion of France.
Petion joined Dessalines, Christophe, and Clervaux,
when they revolted and turned against the French,
and aided in gaining the final independence of the
island. Christophe, therefore, as soon as he heard
that be had a rival in Petion, rallied his forces, and
started for Port au Prince, to meet his enemy. The
former was already in the field, and the two armies
met; a battle ensued, and Petion, being defeated, and
hotly pursued in his flight, found it necessary, in order
to save his life, to exchange his uniform with a laborer,
and to bury himself up to his neck in a marsh until his
fierce pursuers had disappeared. Petion escaped, and
reached his capital before the arrival of the troops under
Christophe. The latter, after this signal success,
pressed forward to Port au Prince, and laid siege to the
town, in hope of an easy triumph over his rival. But
Petion was in his appropriate sphere of action, and
Christophe soon discovered that, in contending with an
experienced engineer in a fortified town, success was of
more difficult attainment than while encountering the
same enemy in the open field, where his science could
not be brought into action. Christophe could make no
impression on the town, and feeling ill assured of the
steadfastness of his own proper government at Cape
François, he withdrew his forces from the investment
of Port au Prince, resolved to establish in the north a
separate government of his own, and to defer to some
more favorable opportunity the attempt to subdue his
rival at Port au Prince. In September, 1808, Petion
commenced another campaign against Christophe, by
sending an army to besiege Port de Paix, which it
did; but after a while it was driven back to Port au
Prince by the victorious legions of the president of the
north. Christophe in turn attempted to take the Mole
St. Nicholas from Lamarre, one of Petion's generals,
but did not succeed. The struggle between the two
presidents of Hayti had now continued three years,
when a new competitor appeared in the field, by the
arrival of Rigaud from France. This was an unexpected
event, which awakened deep solicitude in the
bosom of Petion, who could not avoid regarding that
distinguished general as a more formidable rival than
Christophe. He well knew the attachment of the people
to the great mulatto chief, and he feared his superior
talents. The enthusiasm with which Rigaud was
received wherever he appeared, raised the jealousy of
Petion to such a pitch, that he for a time forgot his
black rival. Partisans flew to the standard of Rigaud,
and a resort to arms seemed imminent between him
and Petion. A meeting, however, was held by the
two mulatto generals, at the bridge of Miragoane,
where a treaty was signed, by which the south was to
be governed by the former, and the west, and as much
as could be wrested from Christophe, by the latter.
But peace between these two was not destined to be
of long duration. A war took place, and Rigaud's
troops proved too much for Petion, and he was defeated
with great loss, and his entire army almost annihilated.
But the victorious general did not follow up his
successes; and although he had gained a signal victory, he
felt that much of his power over his followers was passing
away. The death of Rigaud once more gave the
field to Christophe and Petion, and they again commenced
war upon each other. The latter was superior
to the former in education, and in the refinement
given him by a cultivated understanding and an
extensive intercourse with European society; but he was
greatly inferior to Christophe in boldness and decision
of character. Petion was subtle, cautious, and
desponding. He aspired to be the Washington, as Christophe
was deemed the Bonaparte, of Hayti. By insinuating
the doctrines of equality and republicanism,
Petion succeeded in governing, with but ten thousand
mulattoes, a population of more than two hundred
thousand blacks. Assuming no pretensions to personal
or official dignity, and totally rejecting all the
ceremonial of a court, it was Petion's ambition to
maintain the exterior of a plain republican magistrate.
Clad in the white linen undress of the country, and
with a Madras handkerchief tied about his head, he
mixed freely and promiscuously with his fellow-citizens,
or seated himself in the piazza of the government
house, accessible to all. He professed to hold himself
at the disposal of the people, and to be ready at any
moment to submit to their will, whether it was to
guide the power of the state, or yield his head to the
executioner.

A republican officer one day called on Petion at the
government house, and while they were alone, the former
drew out a pistol and fired at the president, without
injuring him, however; the latter immediately
seized his visitor, disarmed him, and when the guard
rushed in, he found the president and the officer walking
the room locked in each other's arms. This man
was ever after the warm friend of Petion. At the
downfall of Napoleon, and the elevation of Louis
XVIII., another effort was made to regain possession
of the island by France. But the latter did not resort
to arms. Having no confidence in the French, and
fearing a warlike demonstration, both Petion and
Christophe prepared for defence. Petion had long
been despondent for the permanence of the republic,
and this feeling had by degrees grown into a settled
despair; and amidst these perplexities and embarrassments
he fell sick, in the month of March, 1818, and
after an illness which continued only eight days, he
died, and was succeeded by General Boyer.

The administration of Petion was mild, and he did
all that he could for the elevation of the people whom
he ruled. He was the patron of education and the
arts, and scientific men, for years after his death, spoke
his name with reverence. He was highly respected by
the representatives of foreign powers, and strangers
visiting his republic always mentioned his name in
connection with the best cultivated and most gentlemanly
of the people of Hayti. Lightly lie the earth
on the bones of Petion, and let every cloud pass away
from his memory.

MARTIN R. DELANY, M.D.

DR. DELANY has long been before the public. His
first appearance we believe, was in connection with
The Mystery, a weekly newspaper published at Pittsburg,
and of which he was editor. His journal was
faithful in its advocacy of the rights of man, and had
the reputation of being a well-conducted sheet. The
doctor afterwards was associated with Frederick Douglass
in the editorial management of his paper at Rochester,
N. Y. From the latter place he removed to
Canada, and has since resided in Chatham, where he
is looked upon as one of its leading citizens.

Dr. M. R. Delany, though regarded as a man high
in his profession, is better and more widely known as
a traveller, discoverer, and lecturer. His association
with Professor Campbell in the “Niger Valley Exploring
Expedition” has brought the doctor very prominently
before the world, and especially that portion of
it which takes an interest in the civilization of Africa.
The official report of that expedition shows that he did
not visit that country with his eyes shut. His observations
and suggestions about the climate, soil, diseases,
and natural productions of Africa, are interesting,
and give evidence that the doctor was in earnest. The
published report, of which he is the author, will repay,
a perusal.

On his return home, Dr. Delany spent some time in
England, and lectured in the British metropolis and
the provincial cities, with considerable success, on Africa
and its resources. As a member of the International
Statistical Congress, he acquitted himself with
credit to his position and honor to his race. The foolish
manner in which the Hon. Mr. Dallas, our Minister
to the court of St. James, acted on meeting Dr. Delany
in that august assembly, and the criticisms of the press
of Europe and America, will not soon be forgotten.

He is short, compactly built, has a quick, wiry walk,
and is decided and energetic in conversation, unadulterated
in race, and proud of his complexion. Though
somewhat violent in his gestures, and paying but little
regard to the strict rules of oratory, Dr. Delany is,
nevertheless, an interesting, eloquent speaker. Devotedly
attached to his fatherland, he goes for a “Negro
Nationality.” Whatever he undertakes, he executes
it with all the powers that God has given him; and
what would appear as an obstacle in the way of other
men, would be brushed aside by Martin R. Delany.

ROBERT SMALL.

AT the breaking out of the rebellion, Robert Small
was a slave in Charleston, S. C. He stood amid a
group of his fellow-slaves, as the soldiers were getting
ready to make the assault upon Fort Sumter, and he
said to his associates, “This, boys, is the dawn of
freedom for our race.” Robert, at this time, was employed
as pilot on board the steamboat “Planter,”
owned at Charleston, and then lying at her dock.
The following day, the steamer commenced undergoing
alterations necessary to fit her for a gunboat. Robert,
when within hearing of the whites, was loud in his talk
of what “we'll do with the Yankees, when this boat is
ready for sea.” The Planter was soon transmogrified
into a rebel man-of-war, to be used in and about
the rivers and bays near Charleston, and Robert Small
was her acknowledged pilot. One of Robert's brothers
was second engineer, and a cousin to him was the second
mate; the remainder of the crew were all slaves,
except the white officers. It was the custom of the
captain, chief mate, and chief engineer to spend the
night with their families in the city, when the steamer
was in port, the vessel being left in charge of Robert.
The following is the account of the capture of the
boat by her black crew, as given by the Port Royal
correspondent of the New York Commercial Advertiser:—

“The steamer Planter, which was run away from the
rebels by her pilot, Robert Small, is a new tug boat
employed about Charleston harbor, which was seized by
the Confederate government and converted into a gunboat,
mounting a rifled gun forward and a siege gun
aft. She has been in the habit of running out to sea
to reconnoitre, and was, therefore, no unusual appearance
near the forts guarding the entrance. Small, the
helmsman and pilot, conceived the idea of running
away, and plotted with several friends, slaves like him,
to take them off.

“On the evening of May 11, her officers left the ship,
then at the wharf in Charleston, and went to their
homes. Small then took the firemen and assistant
engineers, all of whom were slaves, in his confidence,
had the fires banked up, and every thing made ready
to start by daylight.

“At quarter to four on Saturday morning, the lines
which fastened the vessel to the dock were cast off,
and the ship quietly glided into the stream. Here
the harbor guard hailed the vessel, but Small promptly
gave the countersign, and was allowed to pass.

“The vessel now called at a dock a distance below,
where the families of the crew came on board.

“When off Fort Sumter, the sentry on the ramparts
hailed the boat, and Small sounded the countersign
with the whistle—three shrill sounds and one hissing
sound. The vessel being known to the officers of the
day, no objection was raised, the sentry only singing
out, ‘Blow the d—d Yankees to hell, or bring one
of them in.’ ‘Ay, ay,’ was the answer, and every
possible effort was made to get below.

“Hardly was the vessel out of range, when Small
ran up a white flag, and went to the United States fleet,
where he surrendered the vessel. She had on board
seven heavy guns for Fort Ripley, a fort now building
in Charleston harbor, which were to be taken
thither the next morning.

“Small, with the crew and their families,—sixteen
persons,—were sent to the flagship at Port Royal, and
an officer placed on board the Planter, who took her
also to Commodore Dupont's vessel. Small is a middle-aged
negro, and his features betray nothing of the
firmness of character he displayed. He is said to be
one of the most skilful pilots of Charleston, and to
have a thorough knowledge of all the ports and inlets
on the coast of South Carolina.’

We give below the official account of the taking and
surrender of the boat to the naval authorities.

U. S. STEAMSHIP AUGUSTA,
OFF CHARLESTON, May 13, 1862.

Sir: I have the honor to inform you that the rebel armed
steamer Planter was brought out to us this morning from Charleston
by eight contrabands, and delivered up to the squadron. Five colored
women and three children are also on board. She carried one
32-pounder and one 24-pounder howitzer, and has also on board four
large guns, which she was engaged in transporting. I send her to
Port Royal at once, in order to take advantage of the present good
weather. I send Charleston papers of the 12th, and the very intelligent
contraband who was in charge will give you the information
which he has brought off. I have the honor to request that you will
send back, as soon as convenient, the officer and crew sent on
board.

Commander Dupont, in forwarding the despatch,
says, in relation to the steamer Planter,—

She was the armed despatch and transportation steamer attached
to the engineer department at Charleston, under Brigadier General
Ripley, whose bark, a short time since, was brought to the blockading
fleet by several contrabands. The bringing out of this steamer, under
all the circumstances, would have done credit to any one. At four
in the morning, in the absence of the captain, who was on shore, she
left her wharf close to the government office and headquarters, with
the Palmetto and “Confederate” flags flying, and passed the successive
forts, saluting, as usual, by blowing the steam whistle. After getting
beyond the range of the last gun, they hauled down the rebel flags,
and hoisted a white one. The Onward was the inside ship of the
blockading squadron in the main channel, and was preparing to
fire when her commander made out the white flag. The armament
of the steamer is a 32-pounder, or pivot, and a fine 24-pound howitzer.
She has besides, on her deck, four other guns, one seven inch
rifled, which were to be taken, on the morning of the escape, to the
new fort on the middle ground. One of the four belonged to Fort
Sumter, and had been struck, in the rebel attack, on the muzzle.
Robert Small, the intelligent slave, and pilot of the boat, who
performed this bold feat so skilfully, informed me of this fact, presuming
it would be a matter of interest to us to have possession of this
gun. This man, Robert Small, is superior to any who have come
into our lines, intelligent as many of them have been. His information
has been most interesting, and portions of it of the utmost
importance. The steamer is quite a valuable acquisition to the
squadron by her good machinery and very light draught. The officer
in charge brought her through St. Helena Sound, and by the
inland passage down Beaufort River, arriving here at ten last night.
On board the steamer, when she left Charleston, were eight men,
five women, and three children. I shall continue to employ Small
as pilot on board the Planter, for inland waters, with which he
appears to be very familiar.

I do not know whether, in the view of the government, the vessel
will be considered a prize; but if so, I respectfully submit to the
Department the claims of the man Small and his associates.

A bill was at once introduced in Congress to consider
the Planter a prize, and to award the prize-money
to her crew. The New York Tribune had the
following editorial on the subject:—

“The House of Representatives at Washington, it is
to be hoped, will be more just to their own sense of
right, and to their more generous impulses, than to
put aside again the Senate bill giving the prize-money
they have so well earned to the pilot and crew of the
steamer Planter. Neither House would have done an
act unworthy of their dignity had they promptly passed
a vote of thanks to Robert Small and his fellows for
the cool courage with which they planned and executed
their escape from rebel bondage, and the unswerving
loyalty which prompted them, at the same time, to
bring away such spoils from the enemy as would make
a welcome addition to the blockading squadron.

“If we must still remember with humiliation that
the Confederate flag yet waves where our national
colors were first struck, we should be all the more
prompt to recognize the merit that has put into our
possession the first trophy from Fort Sumter. And
the country should feel doubly humbled if there is
not magnanimity enough to acknowledge a gallant
action, because it was the head of a black man that
conceived, and the hand of a black man that executed
it. It would better, indeed, become us to remember
that no small share of the naval glory of the war
belongs to the race which we have forbidden to fight
for us; that one negro has recaptured a vessel from a
southern privateer, and another has brought away
from under the very guns of the enemy, where no
fleet of ours has yet dared to venture, a prize whose
possession a commodore thinks worthy to be
announced in a special despatch.”

The bill was taken up and passed, and the brave
Small and his companions received justice at the
hands of the government.

FREDERICK DOUGLASS.

THE career of the distinguished individual whose
name heads this page is more widely known than that
of any other living colored man, except, perhaps,
Alexandre Dumas. The narrative of his life, published
in 1845, gave a new impetus to the black man's
literature. All other stories of fugitive slaves faded
away before the beautifully written, highly descriptive,
and thrilling memoir of Frederick Douglass. Other
narratives had only brought before the public a few
heart-rending scenes connected with the person
described. But Mr. Douglass, in his book, brought not
only his old master's farm and its occupants before
the reader, but the entire country around him,
including Baltimore and its ship yard. The manner in
which he obtained his education, and especially his
learning to write, has been read and re-read by thousands
in both hemispheres. His escape from slavery
is too well understood to need a recapitulation here.
He took up his residence in New Bedford, where he
still continued the assiduous student—mastering the
different branches of education which the accursed
institution had deprived him of in early life.

His advent as a lecturer was a remarkable one.
White men and black men had talked against slavery,
but none had ever spoken like Frederick Douglass.
Throughout the north the newspapers were filled with
the sayings of the “eloquent fugitive.” He often
travelled with others, but they were all lost sight of in
the eagerness to hear Douglass. His travelling companions
would sometimes get angry, and would speak
first at the meetings; then they would take the last
turn; but it was all the same—the fugitive's impression
was the one left upon the mind. He made more
persons angry, and pleased more, than any other man.
He was praised, and he was censured. He made them
laugh, he made them weep, and he made them swear.
His “Slaveholder's Sermon” was always a trump
card. He awakened an interest in the hearts of
thousands who before were dead to the slave and his
condition. Many kept away from his lectures, fearing
lest they should be converted against their will.
Young men and women, in those days of pro-slavery
hatred, would return to their fathers' roofs filled with
admiration for the “runaway slave,” and would be
rebuked by hearing the old ones grumble out, “You'd
better stay at home and study your lessons, and not
be running after the nigger meetings.”

In 1841, he was induced to accept an agency as a
lecturer for the Anti-slavery Society, and at once
became one of the most valuable of its advocates. He
visited England in 1845. There he was kindly
received, and heartily welcomed; and after going
through the length and breadth of the land, and
addressing public meetings out of number on behalf
of his countrymen in chains, with a power of
eloquence which captivated his auditors, and brought the
cause which he pleaded home to their hearts, he
returned home and commenced the publication of the
North Star, a weekly newspaper devoted to the advocacy
of the cause of freedom.

Mr. Douglass is tall and well made. His vast and
fully-developed forehead shows at once that he is a
superior man intellectually. He is polished in his
language, and gentlemanly in his manners. His voice is
full and sonorous. His attitude is dignified, and his
gesticulation is full of noble simplicity. He is a
man of lofty reason; natural, and without pretension;
always master of himself; brilliant in the art of
exposing and abstracting. Few persons can handle a
subject, with which they are familiar, better than he.
There is a kind of eloquence issuing from the depth
of the soul as from a spring, rolling along its copious
floods, sweeping all before it, overwhelming by its
very force, carrying, upsetting, ingulfing its
adversaries, and more dazzling and more thundering than
the bolt which leaps from crag to crag. This is the
eloquence of Frederick Douglass. One of the best
mimics of the age, and possessing great dramatic
powers, had he taken up the sock and buskin, instead
of becoming a lecturer, he would have made as fine a
Coriolanus as ever trod the stage.

In his splendidly conceived comparison of Mr.
Douglass to S. R. Ward, written for the “Autographs
for Freedom,” Professor William J. Wilson says of the
former, “In his very look, his gesture, his whole
manner, there is so much of genuine, earnest
eloquence, that they leave no time for reflection. Now
you are reminded of one rushing down some fearful
steep, bidding you follow; now on some delightful
stream, still beckoning you onward. In either case,
no matter what your prepossessions or oppositions,
you, for the moment at least, forget the justness or
unjustness of his cause, and obey the summons, and
loath, if at all, you return to your former post. Not
always, however, is he successful in retaining you.
Giddy as you may be with the descent you have made,
delighted as you are with the pleasure afforded, with
the Elysium to which he has wafted you, you return
too often dissatisfied with his and your own impetuosity
and want of firmness. You feel that you had
only a dream, a pastime,—not a reality.

“This great power of momentary captivation
consists in his eloquence of manners, his just appreciation
of words. In listening to him, your whole soul
is fired, every nerve strung, every passion inflated,
and every faculty you possess ready to perform at a
moment's bidding. You stop not to ask why or wherefore.
'Tis a unison of mighty yet harmonious sounds
that play upon your imagination; and you give yourself
up, for a time, to their irresistible charm. At
last, the cataract which roared around you is hushed,
the tornado is passed, and you find yourself sitting
upon a bank, (at whose base roll but tranquil waters,)
quietly asking yourself why, amid such a display of
power, no greater effect had really been produced.
After all, it must be admitted there is a power in Mr.
Douglass rarely to be found in any other man.”

As a speaker, Frederick Douglass has had more
imitators than almost any other American, save, perhaps,
Wendell Phillips. Unlike most great speakers, he is
a superior writer also. Some of his articles, in point
of ability, will rank with any thing ever written for
the American press. He has taken lessons from the
best of teachers, amid the homeliest realities of life;
hence the perpetual freshness of his delineations,
which are never over-colored, never strained, never
aiming at difficult or impossible effects, but which
always read like living transcripts of experience.
The following, from his pen, on “What shall be done
with the slaves, if emancipated?” is characteristic of
his style.

“What shall be done with the four million slaves,
if they are emancipated? This question has been
answered, and can be answered in many ways.
Primarily, it is a question less for man than for God—
less for human intellect than for the laws of nature to
solve. It assumes that nature has erred; that the
law of liberty is a mistake; that freedom, though a
natural want of the human soul, can only be enjoyed
at the expense of human welfare, and that men are
better off in slavery than they would or could be in
freedom; that slavery is the natural order of human
relations, and that liberty is an experiment. What
shall be done with them?

“Our answer is, Do nothing with them; mind your
business, and let them mind theirs. Your doingwith
them is their greatest misfortune. They have been
undone by your doings, and all they now ask, and
really have need of at your hands, is just to let them
alone. They suffer by every interference, and succeed
best by being let alone. The negro should have been
let alone in Africa—let alone when the pirates and
robbers offered him for sale in our Christian slave
markets (more cruel and inhuman than the
Mohammedan slave markets)—let alone by courts, judges,
politicians, legislators, and slave-drivers—let alone
altogether, and assured that they were thus to be let
alone forever, and that they must now make their own
way in the world, just the same as any and every other
variety of the human family. As colored men, we
only ask to be allowed to do with ourselves, subject
only to the same great laws for the welfare of human
society which apply to other men—Jews, Gentiles,
Barbarian, Scythian. Let us stand upon our own legs,
work with our own hands, and eat bread in the sweat
of our own brows. When you, our white fellow-countrymen,
have attempted to do any thing for us,
it has generally been to deprive us of some right,
power, or privilege, which you yourselves would die
before you would submit to have taken from you.
When the planters of the West Indies used to attempt
to puzzle the pure-minded Wilberforce with the question,
‘How shall we get rid of slavery?’ his simple
answer was, ‘Quit stealing.’ In like manner we
answer those who are perpetually puzzling their brains
with questions as to what shall be done with the negro,
‘Let him alone, and mind your own business.’ If you
see him ploughing in the open field, levelling the forest,
at work with a spade, a rake, a hoe, a pickaxe, or a
bill—let him alone; he has a right to work. If you
see him on his way to school, with spelling-book,
geography, and arithmetic in his hands—let him alone.
Don't shut the door in his face, nor bolt your gates
against him; he has a right to learn—let him alone.
Don't pass laws to degrade him. If he has a ballot in
his hand, and is on his way to the ballot-box to deposit
his vote for the man who, he thinks, will most justly
and wisely administer the government which has the
power of life and death over him, as well as others—
let him ALONE; his right of choice as much deserves
respect and protection as your own. If you see him
on his way to church, exercising religious liberty in
accordance with this or that religious persuasion—let
him alone. Don't meddle with him, nor trouble yourselves
with any questions as to what shall be done
with him.

“What shall be done with the negro, if emancipated?
Deal justly with him. He is a human being,
capable of judging between good and evil, right and
wrong, liberty and slavery, and is as much a subject
of law as any other man; therefore, deal justly with
him. He is, like other men, sensible of the motives
of reward and punishment. Give him wages for his
work, and let hunger pinch him if he don't work.
He knows the difference between fulness and famine,
plenty and scarcity. “But will he work?” Why
should he not? He is used to it, and is not afraid of
it. His hands are already hardened by toil, and he
has no dreams of ever getting a living by any other
means than by hard work. “But would you turn
them all loose?” Certainly! We are no better than
our Creator. He has turned them loose, and why
should not we? “But would you let them all stay
here?” Why not? What better is here than there?
Will they occupy more room as freemen than as
slaves? Is the presence of a black freeman less
agreeable than that of a black slave? Is an object
of your injustice and cruelty a more ungrateful sight
than one of your justice and benevolence? You have
borne the one more than two hundred years—can't
you bear the other long enough to try the experiment?

CHARLES L. REASON.

PROFESSOR C. L. REASON has for many years been
connected with the educational institutions of New
York and Philadelphia. In 1849, he was called to
the professorship of Mathematics and Belles Lettres in
New York Central College. This situation he held
during his own pleasure, with honor to himself and
benefit to the students. A man of fine education,
superior intelligence, gentlemanly in every sense of
the term, of excellent discrimination, one of the best
of students, Professor Reason holds a power over those
under him seldom attained by men of his profession.
Were I a sculptor, and looking for a model of a
perfect man in personal appearance, my selection would
be Charles L. Reason. As a writer of both prose and
poetry he need not be ashamed of his ability.
Extremely diffident, be seldom furnishes any thing for
the public eye. In a well-written essay on the propriety
of establishing an industrial college, and the
probable influence of the free colored people upon the
emancipated blacks, he says, “Whenever emancipation
shall take place, immediate though it be, the subjects
of it, like many who now make up the so-called free
population, will be, in what geologists call, the ‘transition
state.’ The prejudice now felt against them
for bearing on their persons the brand of slaves, cannot
die out immediately. Severe trials will still be their
portion: the curse of a ‘taunted race,’ must be expiated
by almost miraculous proofs of advancement;
and some of these miracles must be antecedent to the
great day of jubilee. To fight the battle upon the
bare ground of abstract principles will fail to give us
complete victory. The subterfuges of pro-slavery
selfishness must now be dragged to light, and the last
weak argument, that the negro can never contribute
any thing to advance the national character,
‘nailed to the counter as base coin.’ To the
conquering of the difficulties heaped up in the path of
his industry, the free colored man of the north has
pledged himself. Already he sees, springing into
growth, from out his foster work-school, intelligent
young laborers, competent to enrich the world with
necessary products; industrious citizens, contributing
their proportion to aid on the advancing civilization
of the country; self-providing artisans, vindicating
their people from the never-ceasing charge of fitness
for servile positions.” In the “Autographs for Freedom,”
from which the above extract is taken, Professor
Reason has a beautiful poem, entitled “Hope and
Confidence,” which, in point of originality and nicety
of composition, will give it a place with the best
productions of Wordsworth.

A poem signifies design, method, harmony, and
therefore consistency of parts. A man may be gifted
with the most vividly ideal nature; he may shoot
from his brain some blazing poetic thought or imagery,
which may arouse wonder and admiration, as a comet
does; and yet he may have no constructiveness, without
which the materials of poetry are only so many
glittering fractions. A poem call never be tested by
its length or brevity, but by the adaptation of its parts.
A complete poem is the architecture of thought and
language. It requires artistic skill to chisel rough
blocks of marble into as many individual forms of
beauty; but not only skill, but genius, is needed to
arrange and harmonize those forms into the completeness
of a Parthenon. A grave popular error, and one
destructive of personal usefulness, and obstructive to
literary progress, is the free-and-easy belief that
because a man has the faculty of investing common
things with uncommon ideas, therefore he can write
a poem.

The idea of poetry is to give pleasurable emotions,
and the world listens to a poet's voice as it listens to
the singing of a summer bird; that which is the
most suggestive of freedom and eloquence being the
most admired. Professor Reason has both the genius
and the artistic skill. We regret that we are able to
give only the last two verses of “Hope and Confidence.”

“There's nothing so lovely and bright below,As the shapes of the purified mind;Nought surer to which the weak heart can grow,On which it can rest as it onward doth go,Than that Truth which its own tendrils bind.“Yes, Truth opes within a pure sun-tide of bliss,And shows in its ever calm floodA transcript of regions where no darkness is,Where Hope its conceptions may realize,And Confidence sleep in the good.”
CHARLOTTE L. FORTEN.

IN the autumn of 1854, a young colored lady of
seventeen summers, unable to obtain admission into
the schools of her native city (Philadelphia) on
account of her complexion, removed to Salem, Massachusetts,
where she at once entered the Higginson
Grammar School. Here she soon secured the respect
and esteem of the teachers and her fellow-pupils.
Near the end of the last term, the principal of the
establishment invited the scholars to write a poem
each, to be sung at the last day's examination, and at
the same time expressing the desire that the authors
should conceal their names. As might have been
expected, this drew out all the poetical genius of the
young aspirants. Fifty or more manuscripts were sent
in, and one selected, printed on a neat sheet, and
circulated through the vast audience who were present.
The following is the piece:—

A PARTING HYMN.
When Winter's royal robes of whiteFrom hill and vale are gone,And the glad voices of the springUpon the air are borne,Friends, who have met with us before,within these walls shall meet no more.Forth to a noble work they go:O, may their hearts keep pure,And hopeful zeal and strength be theirsTo labor and endure,That they an earnest faith may proveBy words of truth and deeds of love.May those, whose holy task it isTo guide impulsive youth,Fail not to cherish in their soulsA reverence for truth;For teachings which the lips impartMust have their source within the heart.May all who suffer share their love—The poor and the oppressed;So shall the blessing of our GodUpon their labors rest.And may we meet again where allAre blest and freed from every thrall.

The announcement that the successful competitor
would be called out at the close of the singing, created
no little sensation amongst the visitors, to say nothing
of the pupils.

The principal of the school, after all parties had
taken their seats, mounted the platform, and said,
“Ladies and gentlemen, the beautiful hymn just sung
is the composition of one of the students of this school,
but who the talented person is I am unaware. Will
the author step forward?” A moment's silence, and
every eye was turned in the direction of the principal,
who, seeing no one stir, looked around with a degree
of amazement. Again he repeated, “Will the author
of the hymn step forward?” A movement now among
the female pupils showed that the last call had been
successful. The buzzing and whispering throughout
the large hall indicated the intense interest felt by all.
“Sit down; keep your seats,” exclaimed the principal,
as the crowd rose to their feet, or bent forward to catch
a glimpse of the young lady, who had now reached the
front of the platform. Thunders of applause greeted
the announcement that the distinguished authoress
then before them was Miss Charlotte L. Forten. Her
finely-chiselled features, well-developed forehead, countenance
beaming with intelligence, and her dark complexion,
showing her identity with an oppressed and
injured race, all conspired to make the scene an exciting
one. The audience was made up in part of some of
the most aristocratic people in one of the most aristocratic
towns in America. The impression left upon
their minds was great in behalf of the race thus so
nobly represented by the granddaughter of the noble-hearted,
brave, generous, and venerable James Forten,
whose whole life was a vindication of the character of
his race.

“'Tis the mind that makes the body rich;And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,So honor peereth in the meanest habit.”

For several days after the close of the school, the
name of Charlotte L. Forten was mentioned in all the
private circles of Salem; and to imitate her was the
highest aspiration of the fairest daughters of that
wealthy and influential city. Miss Forten afterwards
entered the State Normal School, where, in the
language of the Salem Register, “she graduated with
decided eclat.” She was then appointed by the school
committee to be a teacher in the Epes Grammar School,
where she “was graciously received,” says the same
journal, “by parents of the district, and soon endeared
herself to the pupils under her charge.” These pupils
were all white. Aside from having a finished education,
Miss Forten possesses genius of a high order.
An excellent student and a lover of books, she has a
finely-cultivated mind, well stored with incidents drawn
from the classics. She evinces talent, as a writer, for
both prose and poetry. The following extracts from
her “Glimpses of New England,” published in the
National Anti-Slavery Standard, are characteristic of
her prose. “The Old Witch House,” at Salem, is thus
described:—

“This street has also some interesting associations.
It contains a very great attraction for all lovers of the
olden time. This is an ancient, dingy, yellow frame
house, known as “The Old Witch House.” Our readers
must know that Salem was, two hundred years ago,
the headquarters of the witches. And this is the
veritable old Court House where the so-called witches were
tried and condemned. It is wonderful with what force
this singular delusion possessed the minds, not only of
the poor and ignorant, but of the wisest and gravest
of the magistrates appointed by his majesty's government.

“Those were dark days for Salem. Woe to the housewife
or the household over whose door latch the protecting
horseshoe was not carefully placed; and far greater
woe to the unlucky dame who chanced to be suspected
of such fanciful freaks as riding through the air on a
broomstick, or muttering mystic incantations wherewith
to undo her innocent neighbors. Hers was a
summary and terrible punishment. Well, it is very
pleasant to think how times have changed, and to say
with Whittier,—
‘Our witches are no longer oldAnd wrinkled beldams, Satan-sold,But young, and gay, and laughing creatures,With the heart's sunshine on their features.’
Troops of such witches now pass the old house every
day. I grieve to say that the ‘Old Witch House’ has
recently been defaced and desecrated by the erection of
an apothecary's shop in front of one of its wings.
People say that the new shop is very handsome; but to
a few of us, lovers of antiquity, it seems a profanation,
and we can see no beauty in it.”

The hills in the vicinity of Salem are beautifully
pictured. “The pure, bracing air, the open sky,” and
the sheet of water in the distance, are all brought in
with their lights and shades. Along with the brilliancy
of style and warmth of imagination which characterize
her writings, we find here and there gravity
of thought and earnestness of purpose, befitting her
literary taste. Of Marblehead Beach she writes,—

“The beach, which is at some distance from the town,
is delightful. It was here that I first saw the sea, and
stood ‘entranced in silent awe,’ gazing upon the
waves as they marched, in one mass of the richest
green, to the shore, then suddenly broke into foam,
white and beautiful as the winter snow. I remember
one pleasant afternoon which I spent with a friend,
gathering shells and seaweed on the beach, or sitting
on the rocks, listening, to the wild music of the waves,
and watching the clouds of spray as they sprang high
up in the air, then fell again in snowy wreaths at our
feet. We lingered there until the sun had sunk into
his ocean bed. On our homeward walk we passed
Forest River, a winding, picturesque little stream,
dotted with rocky islands. Over the river, and along
our quiet way, the moon shed her soft and silvery light.
And as we approached Salem, the lights, gleaming from
every window of the large factory, gave us a cheerful
welcome.”

She “looks on nature with a poet's eye.” The visit
to Lynn is thus given:—

“Its chief attraction to me was ‘High Rock,’ on
whose summit the pretty little dwelling of the Hutchinsons
is perched like an eagle's eyrie. In the distance
this rock looks so high and steep that one marvels how
a house could ever have been built upon it. At its
foot there once lived a famous fortune-teller of the
olden time—‘Moll Pitcher.’ She at first resided in
Salem, but afterwards removed to Lynn, where her fame
spread over the adjoining country far and near. Whittier
has made her the subject of a poem, which every
one should read, not only for its account of the fortune-teller,
but for its beautiful descriptions of the scenery
around Lynn, especially of the bold Promontory of
Nahant, whose fine beach, invigorating sea air, and,
more than all, its grand, rugged old rocks,—the grandest
I have ever seen,—washed by the waves of old
Ocean, make it the most delightful of summer resorts.”

The gifts of nature are of no rank or color; they
come unbidden and unsought: as the wind awakes the
chords of the Æolian harp, so the spirit breathes upon
the soul, and brings to life all the melody of its being.
The following poem recalls to recollection some of the
beautiful yet solemn strains of Miss Landon, the gifted
“L. E. L.,” whose untimely death at Cape Coast Castle,
some years since, carried sorrow to so many English
hearts:—

THE ANGEL'S VISIT.
'Twas on a glorious summer eve,—A lovely eve in June,—Serenely from her home aboveLooked down the gentle moon;And lovingly she smiled on me,And softly soothed the pain—The aching, heavy pain that layUpon my heart and brain.And gently 'mid the murmuring leaves,Scarce by its light wings stirred,Like spirit voices soft and clear,The night wind's song was heard;In strains of music sweet and lowIt sang to me of peace;It bade my weary, troubled soulHer sad complainings cease.For bitter thoughts had filled my breast,And sad, and sick at heart,I longed to lay me down and rest,From all the world apart.“Outcast, oppressed on earth,” I cried,“O Father, take me home;O take me to that peaceful landBeyond the moon-lit dome.“On such a night as this,” methought,“Angelic forms are near;In beauty unrevealed to usThey hover in the air.O mother, loved and lost,” I cried,“Methinks thou'rt near me now;Methinks I feel thy cooling touchUpon my burning brow.“O, guide and soothe thy sorrowing child;And if 'tis not His willThat thou shouldst take me home with thee,Protect and bless me still;For dark and drear had been my lifeWithout thy tender smile,Without a mother's loving care,Each sorrow to beguile.”I ceased: then o'er my senses stoleA soothing, dreamy spell,And gently to my ear were borneThe tones I loved so well;A sudden flood of rosy lightFilled all the dusky wood,And, clad in shining robes of white,My angel mother stood.She gently drew me to her side,She pressed her lips to mine,And softly said, “Grieve not, my child;A mother's love is thine.I know the cruel wrongs that crushThe young and ardent heart;But falter not; keep bravely on,And nobly bear thy part.“For thee a brighter day's in store;And every earnest soulThat presses on, with purpose high,Shall gain the wished-for goal.And thou, beloved, faint not beneathThe weary weight of care;Daily before our Father's throneI breathe for thee a prayer.“I pray that pure and holy thoughtsMay bless and guard thy way;A noble and unselfish lifeFor thee, my child, I pray.”She paused, and fondly bent on meOne lingering look of love,Then softly said,—and passed away,—“Farewell! we'll meet above.”I woke, and still the silver moonIn quiet beauty shone;And still I heard amid the leavesThe night wind's murmuring tone;But from my heart the weary painForevermore had flown;I knew a mother's prayer for meWas breathed before the throne.

Nothing can be more touching than Miss Forten's
illusion to her sainted mother. In some of her other
poems she is more light and airy, and her muse
delights occasionally to catch the sunshine on its aspiring
wings. Miss Forten is still young, yet on the sunny
side of twenty-five, and has a splendid future before
her. Those who know her best consider her on the
road to fame. Were she white, America would recognize
her as one of its brightest gems.

WILLIAM H. SIMPSON.

IT is a compliment to a picture to say that it
produces the impression of the actual scene. Taste has,
frequently, for its object works of art. Nature, many
suppose, may be studied with propriety, but art they
reject as entirely superficial. But what is the fact?
In the highest sense, art is the child of nature, and is
most admired when it preserves the likeness of its
parent. In Venice, the paintings of Titian, and of the
Venetian artists generally, exact from the traveller a
yet higher tribute, for the hues and forms around him
constantly remind him of their works. Many of the
citizens of Boston are often called to mention the
names of their absent or departed friends, by looking
upon their features, as transferred to canvas by the
pencil and brush of William H. Simpson, the young
colored artist. He has evidently taken Titian, Murillo,
and Raphael for his masters. The Venetian painters
were diligent students of the nature that was around
them. The subject of our sketch seems to have
imbibed their energy, as well as learned to copy the noble
example they left behind. The history of painters, as
well as poets, is written in their works. The best life
of Goldsmith is to be found in his poem of “The
Traveller” and his novel of “The Vicar of Wakefield.”
No one views the beautiful portrait of Charles
Kemble, in the National Gallery in London, in the
character of Hamlet, without thinking of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, who executed it. The organ of color is
prominent in the cranium of Mr. Simpson, and it is
well developed. His portraits are admired for their
life-like appearance, as well as for the fine delineation
which characterizes them all. It is very easy to transcribe
the emotions which paintings awaken, but it is
no easy matter to say why a picture is so painted as
that it must awaken certain emotions. Many persons
feel art, some understand it, but few both feel and
understand it. Mr. Simpson is rich in depth of feeling
and spiritual beauty. His portrait of John T.
Hilton, which was presented to the Masonic Lodge a
few months since, is a splendid piece of art. The
longer you look on the features, the more the picture
looks like real life. The taste displayed in the coloring
of the regalia, and the admirable perspective of
each badge of honor, shows great skill. No higher
praise is needed than to say that a gentleman of
Boston, distinguished for his good judgment in the picture
gallery, wishing to secure a likeness of Hon. Charles
Sumner, induced the senator to sit for Mr. Simpson for
the portrait; and in this instance the artist has been
signally successful.

His likenesses have been so correct, that he has
often been employed to paint whole families, where
only one had been bargained for in the commencement.
He is considered unapproachable in taking
juvenile faces. Mr. Simpson does not aspire to any
thing in his art beyond portrait painting. Nevertheless,
a beautiful fancy sketch, hanging in his studio,
representing summer, exhibits marked ability and consummate
genius. The wreath upon the head, with different
kinds of grain interwoven, and the nicety of
coloring in each particular kind, causes those who
view it to regard him as master of his profession.
Portraits of his execution are scattered over most of
the Northern States and the Canadas. Some have
gone to Liberia , Hayti, and California.

Mr. Simpson is a native of Buffalo, New York, where
he received a liberal education. But even in school,
his early inclination to draw likenesses materially interfered
with his studies. The propensity to use his
slate and pencil in scratching down his schoolmates,
instead of doing his sums in arithmetic, often gained
him severe punishment. After leaving school, he was
employed as errand boy by Matthew Wilson, Esq., the
distinguished artist, who soon discovered young Simpson's
genius, and took him as an apprentice. In 1854,
they removed to Boston, where Mr. Simpson labored
diligently to acquire a thorough knowledge of the
profession. Mr. Wilson stated to the writer, that he
never had a man who was more attentive or more
trustworthy than William H. Simpson. The colored
artist has been working in his own studio nearly three
years, and has his share of public patronage. Of
course he has many obstacles thrown in his path by
the prejudice against him as a colored man; but he
long since resolved that he would reach the highest
round in the ladder. His career may well be imitated.

“Would you wrest the wreath of fameFrom the hand of Fate;Would you write a deathless nameWith the good and great;Would you bless your fellow-men,Heart and soul imbueWith the holy task,—why, thenPaddle your own canoe.”

Mr. Simpson is of small figure, unmixed in blood,
has a rather mild and womanly countenance, firm and
resolute eye, is gentlemanly in appearance, and intelligent
in conversation.

JEAN PIERRE BOYER.

JEAN PIERRE BOYER was born at Port au Prince on
the 2d of February, 1776; received in Paris the
advantages of European culture; fought under Rigaud
against Toussaint; and in consequence of the success
of the latter, quitted the island. Boyer returned to
Hayti in Leclerc's expedition: he, however, separated
from the French general-in-chief, placed himself at
the head of his own color, and aided in vindicating
the claims of his race to freedom in the last struggle
with the French. On the death of Dessalines, Christophe,
already master of the north, sought to take the
south out of the hands of Petion. Boyer assisted his
fellow-mulatto in driving off the black general. This
act endeared him to the former. Gratitude, as well
as regard to the common interest, gave Boyer the
president's chair, on the death of Petion. Raised to
that dignity, he employed his power and his energies to
complete those economical and administrative reforms
with which he had already been connected under his
predecessor. To labor for the public good was the
end of his life. In this worthy enterprise he was
greatly assisted, no less by his knowledge than his
moderation. Well acquainted with the character of
the people that he was called to govern, conversant
with all the interests of the state, he had it in his
power to effect his purpose by mild as well as judicious
measures. Yet were the wounds deep which he had
to heal; and he could accomplish in a brief period
only a small part of that which it will require generations
to carry to perfection. At the death of Christophe,
in 1820, Boyer was proclaimed president of the
north and south. In 1822, the Spanish part of the
island, with its own accord, joined the republic; and
thus, from Cape Tiburn to Cape Engano, Hayti was
peacefully settled under one government, with Boyer
at its head. At length, in 1825, after the recognition
of Hayti by others, the French, under Charles X., sold
to its inhabitants the rights which they had won by
their swords, for the sum of one hundred and fifty
millions of francs, to be paid as an indemnity to the
old planters. The peace with France created a more
fraternal feeling between the two countries, and Hayti
now began to regain her ancient commercial advantages,
and every thing seemed prosperous. In the
year 1843, a party opposed to the president made its
appearance, which formed itself into a conspiracy to
overthrow the government. Seeing that he could not
make head against it, Boyer, in disgust, took leave of
the people in a dignified manner, and retired to
Jamaica, where, a few years since, he died.

Though called a mulatto, Boyer was nearly black,
and his long residence in Europe gave him a polish in
manners foreign to the island. He was a brave man,
a good soldier, and proved himself a statesman of no
ordinary ability. When he came into power, the mountains
were filled with Maroons, headed by a celebrated
chief named Gomar. Regaud and Petion had tried
in vain to rid the country of these brigands. Boyer
soon broke up their strongholds, dispersed them, and
finally destroyed or brought them all under subjection.
By his good judgment, management, and humanity,
he succeeded in uniting the whole island under one
government, and gained the possession of what Christophe
had exhausted himself with efforts to obtain, and
what Petion had sighed for, without daring to cherish
a single hope that its attainment could be accomplished.
Boyer was blameless in his private life.

JAMES M'CUNE SMITH, M. D.

UNABLE to get justice done him in the educational
institutions of his native country, James M'Cune
Smith turned his face towards a foreign land. He
graduated with distinguished honors at the University
of Glasgow, Scotland, where he received his diploma
of M. D. For the last twenty-five years he has been a
practitioner in the city of New York, where he stands
at the head of his profession. On his return from Europe,
the doctor was warmly welcomed by his fellow-citizens,
who were anxious to pay due deference to
his talents; since which time, he has justly been
esteemed among the leading men of his race on the
American continent. When the natural ability of the
negro was assailed, some years ago, in New York,
Dr. Smith came forward as the representative of the
black man, and his essays on the comparative anatomy
and physiology of the races, read in the discussion,
completely vindicated the character of the negro, and
placed the author among the most logical and scientific
writers in the country.

The doctor has contributed many valuable papers
to the different journals published by colored men
during the last quarter of a century. The New York
dailies have also received aid from him during the
same period. History, antiquity, bibliography, translation,
criticism, political economy, statistics,—almost
every department of knowledge,—receive emblazon
from his able, ready, versatile, and unwearied pen.
The emancipation of the slave, and the elevation of
the free colored people, has claimed the greatest share
of his time as a writer. The following, from the
doctor, will give but a poor idea of his style:—

“FREEDOM—LIBERTY.

“Freedom and liberty are not synonyms. Freedom
is an essence; liberty, an accident. Freedom is born
within man; liberty may be conferred on him. Freedom
is progressive; liberty is circumscribed. Freedom
is the gift of God; liberty, the creature of society.
Liberty may be taken away from man; but on whatsoever
soul freedom may alight, the course of that
soul is thenceforth onward and upward; society, customs,
laws, armies, are but as withes in its giant
grasp, if they oppose—instruments to work its will,
if they assent. Human kind welcome the birth of a
free soul with reverence and shoutings, rejoicing in
the advent of a fresh offshoot of the divine whole,
of which this is but a part.”

His article in the Anglo-African Magazine, on
“Citizenship,” is one of the most logical arguments
ever written in this country upon that subject. In
the same journal, Dr. Smith has an essay on “The
Fourteenth Query of Thomas Jefferson's Notes on
Virginia,” not surpassed by any thing which we have
seen. These are the result of choice study, of nice
observation, of fine feeling, of exquisite fancy, of consummate
art, and the graceful tact of the scholar.
Space will not allow us to select the many choice bits
that we could cull from the writings of James M'Cune
Smith.

The law of labor is equally binding on genius and
mediocrity. The mind and body rarely visit this
earth of ours so exactly fitted to each other, and so
perfectly harmonizing together, as to rise without
effort, and command in the affairs of men. It is not
in the power of every one to become great. No great
approximation, even toward that which is easiest
attained, can ever be accomplished without the exercise
of much thought and vigor of action; and thus is
demonstrated the supremacy of that law which gives
excellence only when earned, and assigns to labor its
unfailing reward.

It is this energy of character, industry, and labor,
combined with great intellectual powers, which has
given Dr. Smith so much influence in New York. As
a speaker, he is eloquent, and, at times, brilliant, but
always clear and to the point. In stature, the doctor
is not tall, but thick, and somewhat inclined to corpulency.
He has a fine and well-developed head, broad
and lofty brow, round, full face, firm mouth, and
an eye that dazzles. In blood, he appears to be rather
more Anglo-Saxon than African.

BISHOP PAYNE.

TEACHER of a small school at Charleston, South
Carolina, in the year 1834, Daniel A. Payne felt the
oppressive hand of slavery too severely upon him, and
he quitted the southern Sodom and came north.
After going through a regular course of theological
studies at Gettysburg Seminary, he took up his
residence at Baltimore, where he soon distinguished himself
as a preacher in the African Methodist denomination.
He was several years since elected bishop, and
is now located in the State of Ohio.

Bishop Payne is a scholar and a poet; having published,
in 1850, a volume of his productions, which
created considerable interest for the work, and gave
the author a standing among literary men. His writings
are characterized by sound reasoning and logical
conclusions, and show that he is well read. The
bishop is devotedly attached to his down-trodden race,
and is constantly urging upon them self-elevation.
After President Lincoln's interview with the
committee of colored men at Washington, and the colonization
scheme recommended to them, and the appearance
of Mr. Pomeroy's address to the free blacks,
Bishop Payne issued the following note of advice,
which was published in the Weekly Anglo-African:—

“To the Colored People of the United States.

“MEN, BRETHREN, SISTERS: A crisis is upon us
which no one can enable us to meet, conquer, and
convert into blessings for all concerned, but that God
who builds up one nation and breaks down another.

“For more than one generation, associations of white
men, entitled Colonization Societies, have been
engaged in plans and efforts for our expatriation; these
have been met sometimes by denunciations, sometimes
by ridicule, often by argument; but now the American
government has assumed the work and responsibility
of colonizing us in some foreign land within the
torrid zone, and is now maturing measures to consummate
this scheme of expatriation.

“But let us never forget that there is a vast difference
between voluntary associations of men and the legally
constituted authorities of a country; while the former
may be held in utter contempt, the latter must always
be respected. To do so is a moral and religious, as
well as a political duty.

“The opinions of the government are based upon
the ideas, that white men and colored men cannot live
together as equals in the same country; and that unless
a voluntary and peaceable separation is effected
now, the time must come when there will be a war of
extermination between the two races.

“Now, in view of these opinions and purposes of
the government, what shall we do? My humble advice
is, before all, and first of all,—even before we
say yea or nay,—let us seek from the mouth of God.
Let every heart be humbled, and every knee bent in
prayer before him. Throughout all this land of our
captivity, in all this house of our bondage, let our
cries ascend perpetually to Heaven for aid and direction.

“To your knees, I say, O ye oppressed and enslaved
ones of this Christian republic, to your knees, and be
there.

“Before the throne of God, if nowhere else, the
black man can meet his white brother as an equal, and
be heard.

“It has been said that he is the God of the white
man, and not of the black. This is horrible blasphemy
—a lie from the pit that is bottomless—believe
it not—no—never. Murmur not against the Lord
on account of the cruelty and injustice of man. His
almighty arm is already stretched out against slavery
—against every man, every constitution, and every
union that upholds it. His avenging chariot is now
moving over the bloody fields of the doomed south,
crushing beneath its massive wheels the very foundations
of the blasphemous system. Soon slavery shall
sink like Pharaoh—even like that brazen-hearted
tyrant, it shall sink to rise no more forever.

“Haste ye, then, O, hasten to your God; pour the
sorrows of your crushed and bleeding hearts into his
sympathizing bosom. It is true that ‘on the side of
the oppressor there is power’—the power of the purse
and the power of the sword. That is terrible. But
listen to what is still more terrible: on the side of the
oppressed there is the strong arm of the Lord, the
Almighty God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob—
before his redeeming power the two contending armies,
hostile to each other, and hostile to you, are like
chaff before the whirlwind.

“Fear not, but believe. He who is for you is more
than they who are against you. Trust in him—hang
upon his arm—go, hide beneath the shadow of his
wings.

“O God! Jehovah-jireh! wilt thou not hear us?
We are poor, helpless, unarmed, despised. Is it not
time for thee to hear the cry of the needy—to judge
the poor of the people—to break in pieces the
oppressor.

“Be, O, be unto us what thou wast unto Israel in
the land of Egypt, our Counsellor and Guide—our
Shield and Buckler—our Great Deliverer—our Pillar
of cloud by day—our Pillar of fire by night!

“Stand between us and our enemies, O thou angel
of the Lord! Be unto us a shining light—to our
enemies, confusion and impenetrable darkness. Stand
between us till this Red Sea be crossed, and thy
redeemed, now sighing, bleeding, weeping, shall shout
and sing, for joy, the bold anthem of the free.”

A deep vein of genuine piety pervades nearly all
the productions of Bishop Payne. As a pulpit orator,
he stands deservedly high. In stature, he is rather
under the medium size, about three fourths African,
rather sharper features than the average of his race,
and appears to be about fifty years of age. He is very
popular, both as a writer and a speaker, with his own
color. The moral, social, and political standard of
the black man has been much elevated by the influence
of Bishop Payne.

WILLIAM STILL.

THE long connection of Mr. Still with the anti-slavery
office, in a city through which fugitive slaves had to
pass in their flight from bondage, and the deep interest
felt by him for the freedom and general welfare of
his race, have brought him prominently before the public.
It would not be good policy to say how many
persons passed through his hands while on their way
to the north or the British dominions, even if we knew.
But it is safe to say that no man has been truer to the
fleeing slave than he. In the first town where I
stopped in Canada, while on a visit there a year since,
I took a walk through the market one Saturday morning,
and saw a large sprinkling of men and women
who had escaped from the south. As soon as it was
understood that I was from “the States,” I was surrounded
and overwhelmed with inquiries about places
and persons. A short, stout, full-faced, energetically
talking woman, looking me fairly in the eyes, said,
“Were you ever in Philadelphia, sonny?” I answered
that I had been there. “Did you know Mr.
Still?” “Yes,” said I: “do you know him?” “God
love your heart! I reckon I does. He put me fru dat
city on a swingin' limb, dat he did. Ah! he's a man
dat can be depended on.” This was only the opening;
for as soon as it was known that I was well acquainted
with William Still, the conversation turned entirely
upon him, and I was surprised to see so many before
me whom he had assisted. And though there were
some present who complained of other Underground
Railroad conductors, not a single word was uttered
against Mr. Still; but all united in the strongest praise
of him. In every town that I visited during a stay of
ten weeks in Canada, I met persons who made feeling
inquiries after him, and I was glad to find that all
regarded him as a benefactor. Mr. Still is well educated,
has good talents, and has cultivated them. He is an
interesting and forcible writer, and some of the stories
of escaped slaves, which he has contributed to the
press, will challenge criticism. A correspondent of
one of the public journals sent the following account
to his paper of all interview which he had with Mr.
Still the day previous:—

“We sat down to talk. The ultimate destiny of the
black man was discussed, our host opening that his
struggle for a habitation and a name must be in America.
He said that his people were attached to the
republic, notwithstanding many disadvantages imposed
upon them, their hope being strong that patience and
good citizenship would eventually soften the prejudices
of the whites. Tempered as they were to our habits
and climate, it would be cruel to place them on a strand
but dimly known, where, surrounded by savages, they
might become savage themselves.

“There was to us a sincere pleasure in our host's
discourse. He is one of the leading public men among
his people, and has much of the ease and polish peculiar
to the well-bred Caucasian. He laughed at times,
but never boisterously, and in profounder moments
threw a telling solemnity into his tone and expression.
When the head was averted, we heard, in well-modulated
speech, such vigorous sentences and thoughtful
remarks, that the identity of the speaker with the proscribed
race was half forgotten; but the biased eyesight
revealed only a dusky son of Ham. On a ‘what-not’
table were clustered a number of books. Most of them
were anti-slavery publications, although there were
several volumes of sermons, and a few philosophical
and historical books. We turned the conversation to
literature. He was well acquainted with the authors
he had read, and ventured some criticisms, indicative
of study. From the earnestness of the man, it seemed
that the interests of his race were very dear to him.

“It is but just to say, that he has passed many years
in constant companionship with Caucasians.”

Mr. Still is somewhat tall, neat in figure and person,
has a smiling face, is unadulterated in blood, and gentlemanly
in his intercourse with society. He is now
extensively engaged in the stove and fuel trade, keeps
five or six men employed, and has the patronage of
some of the first families of Philadelphia. He has the
entire confidence of all who know and appreciate his
moral worth and business talents.

EDWIN M. BANNISTER.

EDWIN M. BANNISTER was born in the town of St.
Andrew, New Brunswick, and lost his father when
only six years old. He attended the grammar school
in his native place, and received a better education
than persons generally in his position. From early
childhood he seems to have had a fancy for painting,
which showed itself in the school room and at home.
He often drew portraits of his school-fellows, and the
master not unfrequently found himself upon the slate,
where Edwin's success was so manifest that the likeness
would call forth merriment from the boys, and
create laughter at the expense of the teacher. At the
death of his mother, when still in his minority, he was
put out to live with the Hon. Harris Hatch, a wealthy
lawyer, the proprietor of a fine farm some little distance
in the country. In his new home Edwin did not
lose sight of his drawing propensities, and though the
family had nothing in the way of models except two
faded portraits, kept more as relics than for their
intrinsic value, he nevertheless practised upon them,
and often made the copy look more life-like than the
original. On the barn doors, fences, and every place
where drawings could be made, the two ancient faces
were to be seen pictured. When the family were
away on the Sabbath at church, the young artist would
take possession of the old Bible, and copy its crude
engravings, then replace it upon the dusty shelf, feeling
an inward gratification, that, instead of satisfying
the inclination, only gave him fresh zeal to hunt for
now models. By the great variety of drawings which
he had made on paper, and the correct sketches taken,
young Bannister gained considerable reputation in the
lawyer's family, as well as in the neighborhood. Often,
after the household had retired at night, the dim glimmer
from the lean tallow candle was seen through the
attic chamber window. It was there that the genius
of the embryo artist was struggling for development.
Nearly every wall in the dwelling had designs or faces
pencilled upon it, and many were the complaints
that the women made against the lad. At last he
turned his steps towards Boston, with the hope that he
might get a situation with a painter, never dreaming
that his color would be a barrier to the accomplishment
of such an object. Weeks were spent by the
friendless, homeless, and penniless young man, and
every artist had seen his face and heard his wish to
become a painter. But visiting these establishments
brought nothing to sustain nature, and Mr. Bannister
took up the business of a hair-dresser, merely as a
means of getting bread, but determined to leave it as
soon as an opening presented itself with an artist. The
canvas, the paint, the easel, and the pallet were
brought in, and the hair-dressing saloon was turned
into a studio.

There is a great diversity of opinion with regard to
genius, many mistaking talent for genius. Talent is
strength and subtilty of mind; genius is mental inspiration
and delicacy of feeling. Talent possesses vigor
and acuteness of penetration, but is surpassed by the
vivid intellectual conceptions of genius. The former
is skilful and bold, the latter aspiring and gentle. But
talent excels in practical sagacity; and hence those
striking contrasts so often witnessed in the world—the
triumph of talent through its adroit and active energies,
and the adversities of genius in the midst of its
boundless but unattainable aspirations.

Mr. Bannister possesses genius, which is now showing
itself in his studio in Boston; for he has long since
thrown aside the scissors and the comb, and transfers
the face to the canvas, instead of taking the hair from
the head. His portraits are correct representations of
the originals, and he is daily gaining admirers of his
talent and taste. He has painted several pictures from
his own designs, which exhibit his genius. “Wall
Street at Home,” represents the old gent, seated in his
easy chair, boots off and slippers on, and intently reading
the last news. The carpet with its variegated colors,
the hat upon the table, the cloak thrown carelessly
across a chair, and the pictures hanging on the walls,
are all brought out with their lights and shades. A
beautiful landscape, representing summer, with the
blue mountains in the distance, the heated sky, and
the foliage to match, is another of his pieces. It is
indeed commendable in Mr. Bannister, that he has
thus far overcome the many obstacles thrown in his
way by his color, and made himself an honor to his
race.

Mr. Bannister is spare-made, slim, with an interesting
cast of countenance, quick in his walk, and easy
in his manners. He is a lover of poetry and the classics,
and is always hunting up some new model for his
gifted pencil and brush. He has a picture representing
“Cleopatra waiting to receive Marc Antony,” which I
regret that I did not see. I am informed, however, that
it is a beautifully-executed picture. Mr. Bannister has
a good education, is often called upon to act as secretary
to public meetings, and is not by any means a bad
speaker, when on the platform. Still young, enterprising,
and spirited, we shall be mistaken if Edwin M.
Bannister does not yet create a sensation in our country
as an artist.

LEONARD A. GRIMES.

LEONARD A. GRIMES is a native of Leesburg, Loudon
county, Va., and was born in 1815. He went to
Washington when a boy, and was first employed in a
butcher's shop, and afterwards in an apothecary's
establishment. He subsequently hired himself out to
a slaveholder, whose confidence he soon gained.
Accompanying his employer in some of his travels in the
remote Southern States, young Grimes had an opportunity
of seeing the different phases of slave life; and
its cruelty created in his mind an early hatred to the
institution which has never abated. He could not
resist the appeals of the bondmen for aid in making
their escape to a land of freedom, and consequently
was among the first to take stock in the Underground
Railroad. After saving money enough by his earnings,
he purchased a hack and horses, and became a hackman
in the city of Washington. In his new vocation,
Mr. Grimes met with success, and increased his business
until he was the owner of a number of carriages
and horses, and was considered one of the foremost
men in his line. During all this time he never lost
sight of the slave, and there is no telling how many he
put on the road to Canada. A poor woman and her
seven children were about being carried away to the
far south by the slave-trader. Her husband, a free
black, sought out Leonard A. Grimes, and appealed to
his humanity, and not in vain; for in less than forty-eight
hours, the hackman penetrated thirty miles into
Virginia, and, under cover of night, brought out the
family. The husband, wife, and little ones, a few days
after, breathed the free air of Canada. Mr. Grimes
was soon suspected, arrested, tried, and sentenced to
two years in the state prison, at Richmond. Here he
remained; and the close, dank air, the gloom, the high,
dull, cold, stone walls, the heavy fetters upon his limbs,
the entire lack of any thing external to distract his
thoughts from his situation, all together, produced a
feeling of depression he had never known before. It
was at this time that Mr. Grimes “felt,” as he says,
‘that great spiritual change which makes all things
new for the soul.” From that hour he became a
preacher to his keepers, and, as far as he was allowed,
to his fellow-prisoners. This change lightened his
confinement, and caused him to feel that he was sent there
to do his Master's will.

At the expiration of his imprisonment, Mr. Grimes
returned to Washington, and employed himself in
driving a furniture car, and jobbing about the city.
Feeling himself called to preach, he underwent the
required examination, received a license, and, without
quitting his employment, preached as occasion offered.
Not long after this, he removed to New Bedford, Mass.,
where he resided two years. There was in Boston a
small congregation, worshipping in a little room, but
without a regular preacher. An invitation was extended
to Mr. Grimes to become their pastor. He
accepted, came to Boston, and, under his ministration,
the society increased so rapidly that a larger house was
soon needed. A lot was purchased, the edifice begun,
and now they have a beautiful church, capable of seating
six or seven hundred persons. The cost of the
building, including the land, was $13,000; all of which,
except $2,000, has been paid. We need not say that
this was accomplished through the untiring exertions
of Mr. Grimes. Besides his labors in the society, he
was often engaged in aiding fugitive slaves in the
redemption of their relations from the servitude of the
south. During his fourteen years' residence in Boston,
he has had $6,000 pass through his hands, for the benefit
of that class of persons. In action he is always—
“Upward, onward, pressing forwardTill each bondman's chains shall fall,Till the flag that floats above usLiberty proclaims to all.”

In 1854, Mr. Grimes became conspicuously
connected with the fugitive slave Anthony Burns.
Mainly through his efforts the latter gained his
freedom. The pastor of the Twelfth Baptist Church
is, emphatically, a practical man. Nearly all public
meetings are held either in his church or vestry, he
taking a suitable part in every thing that tends to the
welfare of his race. “Brother” Grimes is above the
middle size, good looking, has a full face, a countenance
which has the appearance of one who has seen
no trouble, and rather more Anglo-Saxon than African.
He is polite in his manners, and genteel in his personal
appearance. As a preacher, he is considered sound,
and well versed in theology. He is regarded as one
of the ablest men in prayer in Boston. His sermons
are characterized by deep feeling and good sense. No
man in the city has fewer enemies or more friends
than Leonard A. Grimes.

PRESIDENT GEFFRARD.

FABRE GEFFRARD, born at Cayes, in the year 1806,
was the son of a general who had shown himself humane
under Dessalines, and had been with Petion, one
of the chief promoters of the constitution of 1806. Left
early an orphan, young Geffrard entered the army at
the age of fifteen, and only after twenty-two years' service
obtained his captain's commission. He took part
—unwisely, as events proved—in the revolution of
1843, which overturned the able but indolent Boyer,
and distinguished himself at the head of a small body
of troops against the government forces, deceiving
them as to his numbers by the rapidity of his movements,
and as to his resources by supplying provisions
to his famished enemies at a time when he himself was
short of rations. When the revolution, which had
originated with the most impatient of the mulattoes,
led in turn to a rising of that portion of the blacks
who represented absolute barbarism, and whose axiom
was that every mulatto should be exterminated, Geffrard
marched against and defeated the black leader,
Arcaau; but, true to that humanity which seems the
very basis of his character, we find him in turn defending
the middle classes from the blacks, and the insurgent
blacks, when taken prisoners, from the National Guard.
He became lieutenant-general during these movements;
but General Riche, who was made president in
1846, and who bore Geffrard a grudge for having on a
former occasion made him a prisoner, sent him before
a court martial, which, in Hayti, means sending one to
death. Through the adroitness, however, of Riche's
minister of war, the general was acquitted. The president
of the court martial was Soulouque, who seems
to have imbibed, on this occasion, a strange friendship
for the man whose life he had been the means of preserving,
and who thus spared him, in an otherwise unaccountable
manner, during his subsequent rule, and
even forced on him the title of duke, which Geffrard
did not care to assume. In two disastrous wars which
he undertook, in 1849 and in 1855-6, against the
Dominican republic, Geffrard alone won credit. In the
former he was wounded at the head of the division; in
both, by his courage, his activity, his cheerfulness, and
above all, by his anxious care for the welfare of his
soldiers, he exhibited the most striking contrast to
Soulouque's imbecile generalship and brutal indifference to
the safety of others.

In 1858, Soulouque, seeing that Geffrard's popularity
was becoming great, sought an opportunity to have
him arrested. Spies were placed near him. The general,
however, was warned of his danger, and he knew
that nothing was to be hoped for from Soulouque's
ferocity when once aroused by jealousy. Just then, the
emissaries of a conspiracy, formed in the valley of the
Artibonite, beyond the mountain chain which forms the
backbone of the island, were in Port au Prince in search
of a leader. They addressed themselves to Geffrard.
The cup of Soulouque's tyranny was full. Geffrard
listened to their solicitations, but was barely able, by the
aid of a friend, to escape in an open boat, on the very
night when be was to have been arrested. He
succeeded in reaching St. Mark, but found that the people
were not ready for a revolution. He repaired to
Gonaives, where the inhabitants were thoroughly ripe for
a change of rulers. Thus six men coming by sea, met
by three on land, were sufficient to carry the place without
the shedding of a drop of blood. On the 22d of
December, he issued two proclamations, the one abolishing
the empire, the other establishing a republic.
From thence he proceeded to St. Mark, where he was
enthusiastically welcomed by all classes, the army joining
him to a man. With two thousand men he started
for Port au Prince, the capital. Soulouque, in the
mean time, gathered his forces, amounting to six thousand
well-drilled troops, and set out to meet his rival,
but soon found that his army could not be relied on,
and he returned amid the hootings of the people. The
emperor was permitted to take refuge in the French
consulate, and from thence took passage in an English
steamer for Jamaica. Geffrard entered Port au Prince
in triumph; the constitution of 1846 was adopted, and
an election held which chose Geffrard president for
life, with the privilege of nominating his successor. All
agree that he is a good man. His great aim appears
to be the moral, social, and intellectual improvement
of the people.

Most of the army have been disbanded; and those
retained are better fed, better paid, and clothed in a
more suitable manner. New firearms have been introduced,
reforms instituted both in the government and
the army, agriculture and commerce encouraged, old
roads repaired and new ones built. His state papers
show him to be a man of superior natural abilities, and
we believe that he is destined to do more for Hayti and
her people than any ruler since the days of Toussaint
L'Ouverture. Geffrard is a grief in color (nearly
black), of middle height, slim in figure, a pleasing
countenance, sparkling eye, gray hair, fifty-six years
of age, limbs supple by bodily exercise, a splendid
horseman, and liberal to the arts, even to extravagance.
Possessing a polished education, he is gentlemanly
in his conversation and manners. His democratic
ideas induce him to dress without ornaments
of any kind. Soon after assuming the presidency, he
resolved to encourage immigration, and issued an address
to the colored Americans, filled with patriotic
and sympathetic feeling for his race.

GEORGE B. VASHON.

PASSING through the schools of Pittsburg, his native
place, and graduating at Oberlin College with the
degree of Master of Arts, George B. Vashon started in
life with the advantage of a good education. He
studied law with Hon. Walter Forward, and was admitted
to the bar in 1847. He soon after visited Hayti,
where he remained nearly three years, returning home
in 1850. Called to a professorship in New York Central
College, Mr. Vashon discharged the duties of the
office with signal ability. A gentleman—a graduate
of that institution, now a captain in the federal army
—told the writer that he and several of his companions,
who had to recite to Professor Vashon, made it a
practice for some length of time to search Greek, Latin,
and Hebrew, for phrases and historical incidents, and
would then question the professor, with the hope of
“running him on a snag.” “But,” said he, “we never
caught him once, and we came to the conclusion that
be was the best-read man in the college.” Literature
has a history, and few histories can compare with it in
importance, significance and moral grandeur. There
is, therefore, a great price to pay for literary attainments,
which will have an inspiring and liberalizing
influence—a price not in silver and gold, but in thorough
mental training. This training will give breadth
of view, develop strength of character and a comprehensive
spirit, by which the ever-living expressions of
truth and principle in the past may be connected with
those of a like character in the present.

Mr. Vashon seems to have taken this view of what
constitutes the thorough scholar, and has put his theory
into practice. All of the productions of his pen
show the student and man of literature. But he is
not indebted alone to culture, for be possesses genius
of no mean order—poetic genius, far superior to many
who have written and published volumes. As Dryden
said of Shakspeare, “he needed not the spectacles of
books to read Nature; he looked inward, and found
her there.” The same excellence appertains to his
poetical description of the beautiful scenery and
climate of Hayti, in his “Vincent Oge.” His allusion to
Columbus's first visit to the island is full of solemn
grandeur:—
“The waves dash brightly on thy shore,Fair island of the southern seas,As bright in joy as when, of yore,They gladly hailed the Genoese—That daring soul who gave to SpainA world-last trophy of her reign.”

Our limited space will not permit our giving more
of this, or other poems of Mr. Vashon. The following
extract from his admirable essay in the Anglo-African
Magazine, entitled, “The Successive Advances of Astronomy,”
is characteristic of his prose:—

“The next important step recorded in the annals of
astronomy was the effort to reform the calendar by
means of the bissextile year. This effort was made at
the time when Julius Caesar was chief pontiff at Rome.
It is noteworthy, as being the only valuable contribution
made to astronomical science by the Romans; and,
even in this matter, Caesar acted under the guidance
of the Grecian astronomer Sosigenes. We are not to.
suppose, however, that the Romans were totally indifferent
to the subject of astronomy. We are informed
by Cicero, in his elegant treatise concerning ‘Old Age,’
that Caius Gallus was accustomed to spend whole days
and nights in making observations upon the heavenly
bodies, and that he took pleasure in predicting to his
friends the eclipses of the sun and moon a long time
before they occurred. Besides, in the ‘Scipio's Dream’
of the same author, we find, in the course of an admirable
dissertation upon the immortality of the soul, an
account of a terrestrial system, according to which our
earth was the central body, around which the concave
sphere of the starry heavens revolved; while, in the
space between the Moon, Venus, Mercury, the Sun,
Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn moved with retrograde
courses, in the order here mentioned. In fact, this
system was the one which was afterwards adopted,
elaborated, and zealously maintained by the famous
Ptolemy of Alexandria, and which has ever since borne
his name. To Ptolemy, then, who flourished about the
commencement of the second century, the world is
indebted for the first complete system of astronomy that
secured the approbation of all the learned. This it was
enabled to do by the ingenious, although not perfect,
explanation which it gave of the planetary movements,
by supposing these bodies to move in circles whose
centres had an easterly motion along an imaginary circles.
Thus these epicycles, as the circles were called,
moving along the imaginary circle, or deferent, cause
the planets to have, at times, an apparent easterly
direction, at other times a westerly one, and at other
times, again, to appear stationary. Thus recommended,
the Ptolemaic system continued to gain adherents,
until the irruptions of the Huns under Alaric and
Attila, and the destruction of the celebrated library at
Alexandria by the fanatical and turbulent Christians
of that city, laid waste the fair domains of science.
Being thus driven from the places where Learning had
fixed her favorite seats, it took refuge with the Arabs,
who preserved it with watchful care, until happier
times restored it to Europe. It returned with the
conquering Moors who established themselves in Spain,
was brought again under the notice of the Christian
states in the thirteenth century, through the patronage
of the emperor Frederic II. of Germany, and Alphonso
X. of Castile, and flourished more than two hundred
years longer, without any rival to dispute its claims to
correctness.”

Mr. Vashon is of mixed blood, in stature of medium
size, rather round face, with a somewhat solemn
countenance,—a man of few words,—needs, to be drawn
out, to be appreciated. While visiting a distinguished
colored gentleman at Rochester, N. Y., some years ago,
the host, who happened to be a wit as well as an orator,
invited in “Professor T.”—a man ignorant of
education, but filled with big talk and high-sounding
words without understanding their meaning—to
entertain Mr. Vashon, intending it as a joke. “Professor
T.” used all the language that he was master of, but
to no purpose: the man of letters sat still, listened,
gazed at the former, but did not dispute any point
raised. The uneducated professor, feeling that he had
been imposed upon, called Mr. D. one side, and in a
whisper said, “Are you sure that this is an educated
Man.? I fear that he is an impostor; for I tried, but
could not call him out.”

ROBERT MORRIS.

ABOUT the year 1837, Ellis Gray Loring, Esq., took
into his office, as an errand boy, a colored lad of fifteen
years of age. The youngster had a better education
than those generally of his age, which showed that
he had been attentive at school. He was not long in
his new situation ere he began to exhibit a liking for
the contents of the sheepskin-covered books that stood
around on the shelves, and lay upon the baize-covered
tables. Mr. Loring, seeing the aptitude of the lad,
inquired if he wanted to become a lawyer, and was
answered in the affirmative. From that moment the
errand boy became the student, and studied with an
earnestness not often equalled. At scarcely twenty-one
years of age he was admitted to the Boston bar.
This was Robert Morris. With all the prejudice before
him, he kept steadily on, resolving that he would
overcome the negro-hate which stood in the way of his
efforts to prosecute his profession. Gradually he grew
in practice, until most of his fellow-members forgot his
color in the admiration of his eloquence and business
talent. Mr. Morris is of unmixed blood, but not black.
Small in stature, a neat figure, smiling face, always
dressed with the greatest care, gentlemanly in manner
and conversation, his influence has been felt in behalf
of his race. He is an interesting speaker, quick in his
gestures, ardent in his feelings, and enthusiastic in
what he undertakes. He rather inclines to a military
life, and has, on more than one occasion, attempted
the organization of an independent company.

At the presentation of the portrait of John T. Hilton
to the Prince Hall Grand Lodge of Boston, Mr. Morris
made a speech, of which the following is an extract:—

“I wish we could point to well-executed likenesses
of those old colored heroes of revolutionary memory,
who so nobly, patriotically, and willingly, side by side
with their white brethren, fought, bled, and died to
secure freedom and independence to America.

“It would be a source of continual pleasure could
we have in some public room pictures true to life of
those intrepid heroes, Denmark Veazie and Nat Turner,
whose very names were a terror to oppressors;
who, conceiving the sublime idea of freedom for themselves
and their race, animated by a love of liberty of
which they had been ruthlessly deprived, made an
attempt to sever their bonds; and though, in such
attempts to open the prison doors of slavery and let the
oppressed go free, they were unsuccessful, their efforts
and determination were none the less noble and
heroic. In the future history of our country, their names
to us will shine as brightly as that of the glorious old
hero, who, with his colored and white followers, so
strategically captured Harper's Ferry, and touched a
chord in the life of our country that will vibrate
throughout the land, and will not cease until the last
fetter has been struck from the limbs of the last bondman
in the nation; and though the bodies of these
heroes he mouldering in the clay, their souls are
‘marching on.’

“I never visit our ‘Cradle of Liberty,’ and look at
the portraits that grace its walls, without thinking that
the selection is sadly incomplete, because the picture
of the massacred Crispus Attucks is not there. He
was the first martyr in the Boston massacre of March
5, 1770, when the British soldiers were drawn up in
line on King (now State) Street, to intimidate the
Boston populace. On that eventful day, a band of
patriots, led by Attucks, marched from Dock Square
to drive the redcoats from the vicinity of the old State
House. Emboldened by the courageous conduct of
this colored hero, the band pressed forward, and in
attempting to wrest a musket from one of the British
soldiers, Attucks was shot. His was the first blood
that crimsoned the pavement of King Street, and by
the sacrifice of his life, he awoke that fiery hatred of
British oppression which culminated in the declaration
of American independence. At this late day a
portrait of this hero cannot be had; but our children
will live to see the day when the people of this commonwealth
mindful of their deep and lasting obligation
will, through their legislature, appropriate a sufficient
sum wherewith to erect a suitable monument to
preserve the memory of Attucks, and mark the spot
where he fell.”

Mr. Morris deserves great credit for having fought
his way up to his present position. Rumor says that
his profession has paid him well, and that he is now a
man of property. If so, we are glad; for the poet
writes, “If thou wouldst have influence, put money in
thy purse.”

WILLIAM J. WILSON.

IN the columns of Frederick Douglass's paper, the
Anglo-African Magazine, and the Weekly Anglo-African,
has appeared at times, over the signature of
“Ethiop,” some of the raciest and most amusing
essays to be found in the public journals of this
country. As a sketch writer of historical scenes and
historical characters,—choosing his own subjects, suggested
by his own taste or sympathies,—few men are
capable of greater or more successful efforts than
William J. Wilson. In his imaginary visit to the
“Afric-American Picture Gallery,” he gives the
following sketch of the head of Phillis Wheatley.

“This picture hangs in the north-east corner of the
gallery, and in good light, and is so decidedly one of
the finest in the collection, whether viewed in an
artistic light or in point of fact, that it is both a constant
charm and study for me. The features, though
indicative of a delicate organization, are of the most
pleasing cast. The facial angle contains full ninety
degrees; the forehead is finely formed, and the brain
large; the nose is long, and the nostrils thin, while
the eyes, though not large, are well set. To this may
be added a small mouth, with lips prettily turned, and
a chin—that perfection of beauty in the female face
—delicately tapered from a throat and neck that are
of themselves perfection. The whole make-up of this
face is an index of healthy intellectual powers, combined
with an active temperament, over which has
fallen a slight tinge of religious pensiveness. Thus
hangs Phillis Wheatley before you in the Afric-American
Picture Gallery; and if we scrutinize her more
closely through her career and her works, we shall
find her truly an extraordinary person. Stolen at the
tender age of seven years from the fond embraces of a
mother, whose image never once faded from her memory,
and ferried over in the vile slave ship from Afric's
sunny clime to the cold shores of America, and sold
under the hammer to a Boston merchant—a delicate
child, a girl, alone, desolate; a chilly, dreary world
before her, a chain on her feet, and a thorn in her
bosom, and an iron mask on her head, what chance,
what opportunity was there for her to make physical,
moral, or mental progress? In these respects, how
get up to, or keep pace with, other and more favored
people?—how get in the advance?—how ascend, at
last, without a single competitor, the highest scale of
human eminence? Phillis Wheatley did all, and more
than this. A sold thing, a bought chattel at seven
years, she mastered, notwithstanding, the English
language in sixteen months. She carried on with her
friends and acquaintances an extensive and elegant
epistolary correspondence at twelve years of age,
composed her first poem at fourteen, became a proficient
Latin scholar at seventeen, and published in England
her book of poems, dedicated to the Countess of Huntington,
at nineteen; and with the mantle of just fame
upon her shoulders, sailed from America to England
to receive the meed due to her learning, her talents,
and her virtues, at twenty-two. What one of America's
paler daughters, contemporary with her, with all
the advantages that home, fortune, friends, and favor
bring,—what one ascended so far up the hill of just
fame at any age? I have searched in vain to find the
name upon the literary page of our country's record.

The succeeding extract from his poem “The Coming
Man” is very suggestive, especially at this time.

“I break the chains that have been clangingDown through the dim vault of ages;I gird up my strength—mind and arm,—And prepare for the terrible conflict.I am to war with principalities, powers, wrongsWith oppressions,—with all that curse humanity.I am resolved. 'Tis more than half my task;'Twas the great need of all my past existence.The glooms that have so long shrouded me,Recede as vapor from the new presence,And the light-gleam—it must be, life—So brightens and spreads its pure rays before,That I read my mission as 'twere a book.It is life; life in which none but men—Not those who only wear the form—can liveTo give this life to the World; to make menOut of the thews and sinews of oppressed slaves.”

Mr. Wilson is a teacher, and whether the following
is drawn from his own experience, or not, we are left
to conjecture.

THE TEACHER AND HIS PUPIL.

SCENE.—School Room. School in session.

Dramatis Personæ.

TEACHER. A bachelor rising thirty.

PUPIL. A beautiful girl of sixteen.

I see that curling and high-archéd brow.“Scold thee?” Ay, that I will.Pouting I see thee still;Thou jade! I know that thou art laughing now!Silence! hush! nor dare one word to mutter!If it were e'er so gentle,(I speak in tone parental,)Do not thy very softest whisper utter.I know that startled trembling all a hoax,Thou pert and saucy thing!I'll make thy fine ears ringI'll pretermit thy silly, taunting jokes.“Whip thee?” Ay, that I will, and whip thee well;Thy chattering tongue now hold!There, there; I will no further scold.How down those lovely cheeks the hot tears fell!How quickly changed! Nay, nay; come hither, child.'Tis with kindness I would rule;Severity's the erring fool,Who harms the tender or excites the wild.What! trembling yet, and shy? Nay, do not fear;Sure, sure I'll harm thee not;My gentlest, thine's a better lot;So raise those azure eyes with radiant cheer.Cheer up, then; there, now thou canst go. Retain,I pray, within thy heart,Not the unpleasant partThat's past. The other let remain.

To possess genius, the offspring of which ennobles
the sentiments, enlarges the affections, kindles the
imagination, and gives to us a view of the past, the
present, and the future, is one of the highest gifts
that the Creator bestows upon man. With acute
powers of conception, a sparkling and lively fancy,
and a quaintly curious felicity of diction, Mr. Wilson
wakes us from our torpidity and coldness to a sense of
our capabilities. In personal appearance he is under
the middle size; his profile is more striking than his
front face; he has a rather pleasing countenance, and
is unmixed in race; has fine conversational powers, is
genteel in his manners, and is a pleasant speaker upon
the platform.

JOHN MERCER LANGSTON.

ONE of the most promising young men of the west
is John M. Langston, a native of Chillicothe, Ohio,
and a graduate of Oberlin College. He studied theology
and law, and, preferring the latter, was admitted
to the bar, and is now successfully practising his profession.

The end of all eloquence is to sway men. It is,
therefore, bound by no arbitrary rules of diction or
style, formed on no specific models, and governed by
no edicts of self-elected judges. It is true, there are
degrees of eloquence, and equal success does not imply
equal excellence. That which is adapted to sway
the strongest minds of an enlightened age ought to be
esteemed the most perfect, and, doubtless, should be
the criterion by which to test the abstract excellence
of all oratory. Mr. Langston represents the highest
idea of the orator, as exemplified in the power and
discourses of Sheridan in the English House of
Commons, and Vergniaud in the Assembly of the Giroudists.
He is not fragmentary in his speeches; but, a
deep, majestic stream, he moves steadily onward,
pouring forth his rich and harmonious sentences in
strains of impassioned eloquence. His style is bold
and energetic - full of spirit. He is profound without
being hollow, and ingenious without being subtile.

Being at Oberlin a few years since, and learning that
a suit was to be tried before a justice of the peace, in
which Langston was counsel for the defence, I attended.
Two white lawyers—one from Elyria, the other residing
at Oberlin—were for the plaintiff. One day was
consumed in the examination and cross-questioning of
witnesses, in which the colored lawyer showed himself
more than a match for his antagonists. The plaintiff's
counsel moved an adjournment to the next day. The
following morning the court room was full before the
arrival of the presiding justice, and much interest was
manifested on both sides. Langston's oratory was a
model for the students at the college, and all who
could leave their studies or recitations were present.
When the trial commenced, it was observed that the
plaintiffs had introduced a third lawyer on their side.
This was an exhibition of weakness on their part, and
proved the power of the “black lawyer,” who stood
single-handed and alone. The pleading commenced,
and consumed the forenoon; the plaintiff only being
heard. An adjournment for an hour occurred, and
then began one of the most powerful addresses that I
had heard for a long time. In vigor of thought, in
imagery of style, in logical connection, in vehemence,
in depth, in point, and in beauty of language, Langston
surpassed his opponents, won the admiration of
the jury and the audience, and, what is still better for
his credit, he gained the suit. Mr. Langston's practice
extends to Columbus, the capital of the state, and in
the county towns, within fifty miles of his home, he is
considered the most successful man at the bar.

An accomplished scholar and a good student, he
displays in his speeches an amount of literary acquirements
not often found in the mere business lawyer.
When pleading he speaks like a man under oath,
though without any starched formality of expression.
The test of his success is the permanent impression
which his speeches leave on the memory. They do
not pass away with the excitement of the moment, but
remain in the mind, with the lively colors and true
proportions of the scenes which they represent. Mr.
Langston is of medium size and of good figure, high
and well-formed forehead, eyes full, but not prominent,
mild and amiable countenance, modest deportment,
strong, musical voice, and wears the air of a
gentleman. He is highly respected by men of the
legal profession throughout the state. He is a vigorous
writer, and in the political campaigns, contributes
both with speech and pen to the liberal cause. Few
men in the south-west have held the black man's
standard higher than John Mercer Langston.

WILLIAM C. NELL.

No man in New England has performed more
uncompensated labor for humanity, and especially for his
own race, than William C. Nell. Almost from the
commencement of the Liberator, and the opening
of an anti-slavery office in Boston, he has been
connected in some way with the cause of freedom. In
1840, Mr. Nell, in company with William Lloyd Garrison,
Wendell Phillips, and Francis Jackson, signed
a petition to the city government, asking it to grant
equal school rights to the colored children. From that
time till 1855, Mr. Nell lost no opportunity to press
this question. During all this while he had to meet
the frowns of the whites, who were instigated by that
mean and relentless prejudice which slavery had
implanted in their minds; but he went steadily on, resolving
that he would not cease till equality was acknowledged
in the Boston schools. In 1855 the obnoxious
rule was abolished, and the colored youths admitted
to the schools, without regard to complexion. On the
evening of December 17 of the same year, Mr. Nell
was publicly presented with a testimonial by his fellow-citizens.
This consisted of a valuable gold watch.
Master Frederick Lewis, on behalf of the children,
addressed Mr. Nell as follows:—

“Champion of equal school rights, we hail thee.
With unbounded gratitude we bow before thee. Our
youthful hearts bless thee for thy incessant labors and
untiring zeal in our behalf. We would fain assist in
swelling thy praise, which flows from every lip; but
this were a tribute far too small. Noble friend: thou
hast opened for us the gate that leadeth to rich treasures;
and as we pass through, Ambition lendeth us a
hand—ay, she quickeneth our pace; and as, obeying
her, we look through the vista of future years, we
recognize bright Fame in a field of literary glory, her
right hand extended with laurels of honor, to crown
those who shall be most fortunate in gaining the platform
whereon she standeth; while before her is spread
the banquet, with viands rich and rare, that our literary
hunger may be satiated. To this we aspire. To gain
this we will be punctual to school, diligent in study,
and well-behaved; and may we be enabled to reach
the goal, that, in thy declining years, thy heart may be
gladdened by what thine eye beholdeth, and it shall be
like a crown of gold encircling thy head, and like a
rich mantle thrown around thee, studded with jewels
and precious stones.

“Kind benefactor: accept, we entreat thee, this
simple token, emblem of the bright, gladsome years
of youthful innocence and purity; and as thou hast
befriended us, so may we ever prove faithful friends
to thee. May the blessings of Heaven attend thee
through life's ever-changing scenes and intricate windings,
is our prayer.”

Mrs. Smith's address was well conceived, and delivered
in an eloquent and feeling manner which seemed
to touch every heart and quicken every pulse. Mr.
Nell responded in an able speech, recounting many of
the scones that they had passed through. William
Lloyd Garrison and Wendell Phillips were both present,
and addressed the meeting, showing their deep
interest in the black man's rights. Besides contributing
occasionally to the columns of the Liberator,
Frederick Douglass's paper, the Anglo-African, and
other journals, Mr. Nell is the author of the “Colored
Patriots of the American Revolution,” a book
filled with interesting incidents connected with the
history of the blacks of this country, past and present.
He has also written several smaller works, all of which
are humanitarian in their character. He has taken a
leading part in most of the conventions and public
gatherings of the colored citizens, held within the
past twenty-five years. From 1835 to 1850, no public
meeting was complete without William C Nell as
secretary.

Deeply interested in the intellectual development
and cultivation of his race, he aided in the organization
of the “Adelphic Union Association,” which did
much good in its day. Later still, he brought into
existence the “Histrionic Club,” a society that
encouraged reading, recitation, and social conversation.
In this he drew the finest talent that Boston could produce.
They gave a public representation a few years
since, which was considered one of the most classic
performances which has ever been witnessed. Mr.
Nell is of medium height, slim, genteel figure, quick
step, elastic movement, a thoughtful yet pleasant brow,
thin face, and chaste in his conversation. Born in
Boston, passing through her public schools, a good
student, and a lover of literature, he has a cultivated
understanding, and has collected together more facts,
on the race with whom he is identified, than any other
man of our acquaintance. An ardent admirer of
Wendell Phillips, he seems as much attached to that
distinguished orator as Boswell was to Johnson. Mr.
Nell's devotion to his race is not surpassed by any
man living.

JOHN SELLA MARTIN.

J. SELLA MARTIN is a native of Charlotte, North
Carolina, and was born on the 27th of September,
1832. His mother was a slave, and by the laws of
the state the child follows the condition of the mother.
Young Martin sustained the double but incongruous
relation to his owner of master and son. At the tender
age of six years, the boy, together with his mother and
an only sister, was taken from the old homestead at
midnight, and carried to Columbus, Georgia, where
they were exposed for sale. Here they were separated,
the mother and daughter being purchased by one man,
and Sella by another. The latter had the good fortune,
however, to fall into the hands of an old bachelor,
with whom he lived, in the capacity of valet de chambre,
until he was eighteen years old. His opportunities,
while with him, for acquiring a knowledge of books
and the world generally, were far better than usually
fall to the lot of the most favored house servants.
Both master and slave boarded at the principal hotel
in the place; and the latter, associating with other servants,
and occasionally meeting travellers from the
free states, obtained much valuable information
respecting the north and Canada, and his owner was not
a little surprised one day when a complaint came
to him that his servant had been furnishing passes
for slaves in the neighborhood to visit their wives.
Sella was called before the master, and threatened with
severe punishment if he ever wrote another pass for a
Slave. About two years after this, the owner partially
lost his sight, and the servant became first the reader
of the morning paper, and subsequently the amanuensis
in the transaction of all the master's business. An
intimacy sprang up between the two, and it being for
the white man's interest that his chattel should read
and write correctly, the latter became in fact the pupil
of the former, which accelerated his education. At
the age of eighteen his owner died, and Sella was left
free. But the influence of the heirs at law was sufficient
to set the will aside, and the free young man, together
with other slaves of the estate, was sold on the
auction block, and the new owner took Sella to Mobile,
where be resided till 1852, when he was again sold and
taken to New Orleans. Here the subject of our sketch
hired his own time, became a dealer in fruit and oysters,
and succeeded in saving a little money for himself,
with which he made his escape on a Mississippi
steamer in December, 1855, and arrived at Chicago on
the 6th of January, 1856. The great hope of his
younger days had been attained, and he was now free.
But Mr. Martin had seen too much of slavery to feel
satisfied with merely getting his own freedom, and he
therefore began the inquiry to see what he could do
for those whom he had left in the prison house of bondage.
While at Chicago, he made the acquaintance of
Mr. H. Ford Douglass, who was just about to visit the
interior of the state, to deliver a course of lectures.
The latter observed by his conversation with Mr. Martin,
that he possessed the elements of a good speaker,
and persuaded him to join and take part in the meetings.
It is said that Mr. Martin's first attempt in
public was an entire failure. He often alludes to it
himself, and says that the humiliation which he
experienced reminded him. of the time when he was sold
on the auction block—only that the former seemed the
cheaper sale of the two. He was advised never to try
the platform again. But his want of success on the
first occasion stimulated him to new exertion, and we
are told that he wrote out a speech, committed it to
memory, and delivered it two days after to the satisfaction
of all present. Mr. Douglass himself characterizes
it as a remarkable effort. But there was too much
monotony in the delivery of one or two lectures over
and over, and his natural aversion to committed
speeches induced Mr. Martin to quit the lecturing
field. He now resolved to resume his studies, and for
this purpose he removed to Detroit, Michigan, where
he commenced under the tutorage of an able Baptist
minister. Feeling that he was called to preach, soon
after this he began the study of theology, and remained
the student until his education was so far finished that
he felt justified in his own mind to commence lecturing
and preaching. About this time he made the tour of
the State of Michigan, and lectured with great success.
In the beautiful and flourishing town of Coldwater, he
addressed a large and influential meeting, and the
effect upon the audience was such as to raise the
speaker high in their estimation. The weekly paper
said of this lecture,—

“Our citizens filled the court house to hear J. S.
Martin speak for his own race and in behalf of the oppressed.
The citizens admired and were even astonished
at his success as a public speaker. He is a
natural orator, and, considering his opportunities, is one
of the most interesting and forcible speakers of his age,
and of the age. Indeed, he is a prodigy. It would
seem impossible that one kept in ‘chains and slavery,’
and in total ignorance till within a few months, could
so soon attain so vast a knowledge of the English language,
and so clear and comprehensive a view of general
subjects. Nature has made him a great man.
His propositions and his arguments, his deductions and
illustrations, are new and original; his voice and manner
are at his command and prepossessing; his efforts
are unstudied and effectual. The spirit which manifests
itself is one broken loose from bondage and stimulated
with freedom.”

Shortly after this, Mr. Martin was ordained and settled
over the Michigan Street Baptist Church, Buffalo,
New York, where he labored with signal success till
April, 1859, when he removed east. During the same
summer he was introduced to the Boston public by
Mr. Kalloch, the popular preacher at the Tremont
Temple. The latter, pleased with Mr. Martin, secured
his services while away on his annual vacation, which
occupied six or eight weeks. No place of religious
worship was more thronged than the Temple during
the time that he filled its pulpit. At the termination
of his engagement at the Temple, Mr. Martin was
invited by Dr. Eddy to preach for him a few weeks, which
be did with credit to himself and satisfaction to the
society. The first Baptist Church at Lawrence being
without a pastor, Mr. Martin was engaged to supply
the pulpit, and was there seven or eight months, and
might have remained longer; but during this time he
received a call from the Joy Street Church, Boston,
and feeling that his labor was more needed with his
own color, he accepted the latter. He has now been
at the Joy Street Church about three years, where his
preaching has met with marked success. That society
had long been in a declining state; but the church is
now as well filled on Sundays as any place in the city.
In the summer of 1861, Mr. Martin visited England,
and remained abroad six months, where he did good
service for the cause of freedom. On his return home
he was warmly welcomed by his church and congregation.
Soon after, he secured the freedom of his only
sister and her two children, whom he settled at the
west. In person, Mr. Martin is somewhat taller than
the medium height; firm, dignified walk; not what
would be termed handsome, but has a pleasing countenance;
in race, half and half; eyes clear and bright;
forehead well developed; gentlemanly in his deportment;
has a popularity not surpassed by any of the
preachers of Boston.

He has written considerable for the press, both prose
and poetry. Some of the latter is much admired.
His poem “The Hero and the Slave” has been read
in public entertainments, and received with applause.

CHARLES LENOX REMOND.

CHARLES L. REMOND is a native of Salem, Mass.
He has the honor, we believe, of being the first colored
man to take the field as a lecturer against slavery.
He has been, more or less, in the employ of the Anti-Slavery
Society for the past twenty-eight or thirty years.
In 1840, he visited England has a delegate to the first
“World's Anti-Slavery Convention,” held in London.
He remained abroad nearly two years, lecturing in the
various towns and cities of Great Britain and Ireland.
The following lines, addressed to him, appeared in one
of the public journals, after the delivery of one of his
thrilling speeches, in Belfast, and will give some idea
of the estimation in which he was held as a platform
speaker.

TO C. L. REMOND.
Go forth and fear not! Glorious is the causeWhich thou dost advocate; and nobly, too,Hast thou fulfilled thy mission—nobly raisedThy voice against oppression, and the woesOf injured millions; and, if they are men,Who can deny for them a Saviour died?Nor will it e'er be asked, in that dread dayWhen black and white shall stand before the throneOf Him their common Parent, “Unto whichPartition of the human race didst thouBelong on earth?” Enough for thee to fillThe lot assigned thee, as ordained by Heaven.I would not praise thee, Remond,—thou hast giftsBestowed upon thee for a noble end;And for the use of which account must beReturned to Him who lent them. May this thoughtPreserve thee in his fear, and may the praiseBe given only to his mighty name.And if, returning to thy native land,By thee beloved, though dark with crimes that stainHer boasted freedom, thou art called to proveThy true allegiance, even then go forthResigned to suffer,—trust thy all to HimWho can support thee, whilst a still, small voice,Within thy breast, shall whisper, “All is well.”

Mr. Remond was welcomed on his return home, and
again resumed his vocation as at lecturer. In stature
he is small, spare made, neat, wiry build, and genteel
in his personal appearance. He has a good voice, and
is considered one of the best declaimers in New England.
Faultless in his dress, and an excellent horseman,
Mr. Remond has long been regarded the Count
D'Orsay of the anti-slavery movement. He has written
little or nothing for the press, and his notoriety is confined
solely to the platform. Sensitive to a fault, and
feeling sorely the prejudice against color which exists
throughout the United States, his addresses have been
mainly on that subject, on which he is always interesting.
He is a good writer who embodies in his works the soul
and spirit of the times in which he lives,—provided
they are worth embodying,—and the common sympathy
of the great mass is sounder criticism by far
than the rules of mere scholars, who, buried up in
their formulas, cannot speak so as to arrest the attention
or move the heart. Adaptation without degeneracy
is the great law to be followed. What is
true of the writer is also true of the speaker. No
man can put more real meaning in fewer words than
Mr. Remond, and no one can give them greater force.
The following extract from a speech of Mr. Remond,
delivered before the New England Anti-Slavery Convention,
at its anniversary in May, 1859, is characteristic
of his style.

“If I had but one reason, why I consented to appear
here, it was because, at this moment, I believe it belongs
to the colored man in this country to say that his
lot is a common one with every white man north of
the Potomac River; and if you ask me who are my clients,
I think I may answer, ‘Every man north of Mason
and Dixon's line, without reference to his complexion.’
I have read in the newspapers that one or two distinguished
men of this city propose to spend the coming
summer in Europe. Born in Boston, educated at Harvard,
having been dandled in the lap of Massachusetts
favor and Massachusetts popularity, they are about to
travel in Europe, among despotisms, monarchies, aristocracies,
and oligarchies; and I trust in God they
may learn, as they travel in those countries, that it
is an everlasting disgrace that on the soil on which
they were born, no man of color can stand and be
considered free. If they shall learn no more than
this, I will wish them a pleasant and prosperous tour;
and unless they shall learn this, I hope they will come
back and have the same padlock put upon their lips
that is put upon men south of Mason and Dixon
line.

“I want to ask this large audience, Mr. Chairman,
through you, supposing the citizens of Boston should
call a meeting to-morrow, and resolve that, in the
event of a southern man, with southern principles,
being elected to the presidential office, this state will
secede, how would the State of Mississippi receive it?
Now, I am here to ask that the non-slaveholding states
shall dare to do, and write, and publish, and resolve,
in behalf of freedom, as the slaveholders dare to act
and resolve in behalf of slavery.

The time has been, Mr. Chairman, when a colored
man could scarcely look a white man in the face
without trembling, owing to his education and experience.
I am not here to boast; but I may say, in
view of what I have seen and heard during the last
five years, as I said in the Representatives' Hall a
few months ago, that our lot is a common one, and
the sooner we shall so regard it, and buckle on our
knapsacks and shoulder our muskets, and resolve that
we will be free, the better for you as well as for me.
The disgrace that once rested upon the head of the
black man, now hovers over the head of every man and
woman whom. I have the honor to address this evening,
just in proportion as they shall dare to stand erect before
the oligarchy of slaveholders in the southern portion
of our country; and God hasten forward the day
when not only Music Hall, but every other hall in the
city of Boston, the Athens of America, shall be made
eloquent with tones that shall speak, as man has
never before spoken in this country, for the cause
of universal freedom. If the result of that speaking
must be bloodshed, be it so! If it must be the dissolution
of the Union, be it so! If it must be that
we must walk over or through the American church,
he it so! The time has come when, if you value your
own freedom, James Buchanan must be hung in effigy,
and such men as Dr. Nehemiah Adams must be put in
the pillory of public disgrace and contempt; and then
Massachusetts will cease to be a hissing and a by-word
in every other country.”

GEORGE T. DOWNING.

THE tall, fine figure, manly walk, striking profile,
and piercing eye of George T. Downing would attract
attention in any community, even where he is unknown.
Possessing remarkable talents, finely educated,
a keen observer, and devoted to the freedom
and elevation of his race, he has long been looked
upon as a representative man. A good debater, quick
to take advantage of the weak points of an opponent,
forcible in speech, and a natural orator, Mr. Downing
is always admired as a speaker. Chosen president of
the convention of colored citizens which assembled in
Boston on the first of August, 1859, he delivered an
impressive and eloquent opening address, of which we
regret that we can give only an extract. He said,—

“The great consideration that presses upon me is,
what may we do to make ourselves of more importance
in community—necessary, indispensable? To
sustain such a relation as this to community, (and
it is possible,) is to secure, beyond a question, all the
respect, to make sure the enjoyment of all the rights,
that the most deferred to of the land enjoy. Society
is deferential; it defers to power. Learning, and
wealth, and power are most potent in society. It is
not necessary that many men and women of us be
wealthy and learned before we can force respect as a
class; but it is necessary that we exhibit a proportionate
representative character for learning and wealth,
to be respected. It is not numbers alone, it is not
universal wealth, it is not general learning, that secures
to those, known by a distinction in society as
whites—that gains them power; for they are not generally
wealthy, not commonly learned. The number
of these among them, as in all communities, is limited;
but that number forms a representative character, some
of whom excel; hence they have power—the class enjoy
a name.

“There is another sense of power in community,
which, though silent, has its weight—it should be
most potent: that power is moral character. This
also, like the other powers of which I have spoken,
need not be universal to have an effect favorable to a
class. I think that I am not claiming too much for
the colored people in asserting that we have a decent
representation in this respect—a most remarkable one,
considering all the depressing influences which the
present and preceding generations have had to struggle
up under. Happily, this power on community
is not growing less; it is on the increase. An illustration
of the correctness of my position as to the power
of a representative character for wealth and learning
in commanding respect, is forcibly exhibited in the
Celts in our midst, who came among us poor and ignorant,
and who, consequently, fill menial, dependent
positions. They are the least respected of all immigrants.
In speaking thus, I am simply dealing with
facts, not intending to be invidious. The German
element, mingling with the general element which
comes among us, representing a higher intelligence,
more wealth, with great practical industry, is silently
stealing a hold, a power in the nation, because of these
possessions, at which native America will yet start.
Now, gentlemen, if these be the facts, is it not well for us,
as sensible men here assembled, to consider our best
interest—to have in view these sources of power?
Would it not be well to consider these—to fall upon
some plan by which we may possess or excite to the
possession of them—rather than devote much of our
time in a discussion as to the injustice of our
fellow-countrymen in their relation to us? Of this they know
full well, and we too bitterly.

“The ballot is a power in this country which should
not be lost sight of by us. Were it more generally
exercised by the colored people, the effect would be
very perceptible. Those of them residents of the states
that deny them the privilege of the elective franchise,
should earnestly strive to have the right and the power
secured to them; those who have it should never let
an occasion pass, when they may consistently exercise
it, without doing so. We know that the government
and the states have acted most unfairly in their relation
to us; but that government and the states, in doing
so, have clearly disregarded justice, as well as perverted
the legal interpretation of the supreme law of
the land, as set forth in its constitution; which facts
alone require that we exercise the right to vote, whenever
we can, towards correcting this injustice. Were
it known on election day that any colored man would
deposit a vote, that there would be a concert of action
doing so, the effect would be irresistible. Cannot
a vote be cast at the approaching presidential
election? Will the Republican party (a party which
is entitled to credit for the service it has rendered
to the cause of freedom) put in nomination, in 1860,
for whom we can, with some degree of consistency,
cast our ballots? It has such men in its
ranks—prominent men of the party—men who are
available.

“I would have it noted, that we cannot vote for a
man who subscribes to the doctrine that, in struggling
for freedom in a presidential or any other election, he
ignores the rights of the colored man.

“There is all increased as well as an increasing respect
for us in community. This is not simply because
we have friends (all praise to them) who speak
out boldly and uncompromisingly for the right,—in
fact, the most of their efforts have been directed towards
relieving the country of the blight and of the
injustice of slavery,—but it is because our character,
as a class, is better understood.”

Mr. Downing is a native of New York, but spends
his summers at Newport, where he has an excellent retreat
for those seeking that fashionable watering-place,
and where he stands high with the better class of the
community.

ROBERT PURVIS.

FEW private gentlemen are better known than Robert
Purvis. Born in Charleston, S. C., a son of the
late venerable William Purvis, Esq., educated in Now
England, and early associated with William Lloyd
Garrison, Francis Jackson, and Wendell Phillips, he
has always been understood as belonging to the most
ultra wing of the radical abolitionists. Residing in
Philadelphia when it was unsafe to avow one's self a
friend of the slave, Mr. Purvis never was known to
deny his hatred to the “peculiar institution.” A
writer for one of the public journals, seeking out distinguished
colored persons as subjects for his pen, paid
him a visit, of which the following is his account:—

“The stage put us down at his gate, and we were
warned to be ready to return in an hour and a half.
His dwelling stands some distance back from the turnpike.
It is approached by a broad lawn, and shaded
with ancient trees. In the rear stands a fine series
of barns. There are magnificent orchards connected
with his farm, and his live stock is of the most approved
breeds. We understand that he receives numbers
of premiums annually from agricultural societies.
In this fine old mansion Mr. Purvis has resided
many years.

“We were ushered, upon our visit, into a pleasant
dining room, hung with a number of paintings. Upon
one side of an old-fashioned mantel was a large portrait
of a fine looking white man; on the other side, a
portrait of a swarthy negro. Above these old John
Brown looked gloomily down like a bearded patriarch.

“In a few minutes Mr. Purvis came in. We had
anticipated a stubborn-looking negro, with a swagger,
and a tone of bravado. In place of such we saw a tall,
beautifully knit gentleman, almost white, and handsomely
dressed. His foot and hand were symmetrical
and, although his hair was gray with years, every limb
was full, and every movement supple and easy. He
saluted us with decorous dignity, and began to converse.

“It was difficult to forget that the man before us
was not of our own race. The topics upon which he
spoke were chiefly personal. He related some very
amusing anecdotes of his relations with southern gentlemen.
On, one occasion he applied for a passage to
Liverpool in a Philadelphia packet. Some southern
gentlemen, unacquainted with Purvis, save as a man
of negro blood, protested that he should not be received.
Among these was a Mr. Hayne, a near relative of
Hayne the orator.

“Purvis accordingly went to Liverpool by another
vessel. He met Hayne and the southerners as they
were about returning home, and took passage with
them, passing for a white man. He gained their esteem,
was cordially invited by each to visit him in the
south, and no entertainment was complete without his
joke and his presence. At a final dinner, given to the
party by the captain of the vessel, Mr. Hayne, who had
all along spoken violently of the negro race, publicly
toasted Mr. Purvis, as the finest type of the Caucasian
race he had ever met.

“Mr. Purvis rose to reply. ‘I am not a Caucasian,’
said he; ‘I belong to the degraded tribe of Africans.’

The feelings of the South Carolinians need not be
described.

“Mr. Purvis has written a number of anti-slavery
pamphlets, and is regarded, by rumor, as the president
of the Underground Railroad. He has figured in many
slave-rescue cases, some of which he relates with graphic
manner of description.

“He is the heaviest tax-payer in the township, and
owns two very valuable farms. By his influence the
public schools of the township have been thrown open
to colored children. He has also built, at his own expense,
a hall for free debate. We left him with feelings
of higher regard than we have yet felt for any of
his people. It is proper to remark, that Purvis is the
grandchild of a blackamoor, who was taken a slave to
South Carolina.”

Although disdaining all profession of a public character,
Mr. Purvis is, nevertheless, often invited to address
public gatherings. As a speaker he is energetic,
eloquent, and sarcastic. He spares neither friend nor
foe in his argument; uses choice language, and appears
to feel that nature and humanity are the everlasting
proprietors of truth, and that truth should be spoken
at all times. Mr. Purvis is an able writer, and whatever
he says comes directly from the heart. His letter
to Hon. S. C. Pomeroy, on colonization, is characteristic
of him. We regret that space will not allow us
to give the whole of this timely and manly production.

“There are some aspects of this project which surely
its advocates cannot have duly considered. You purpose
to exile hundreds and thousands of your laborers.
The wealth of a country consists mainly in its labor.
With what law of economy, political or social, can you
reconcile this project to banish from your shores the
men that plough your fields, drive your teams, and
help build your houses? Already the farmers around
me begin to feel the pinching want of labor; how will
it be after this enormous draft? I confess the project
seems to me one of insanity. What will foreign nations,
on whose good or ill will so much is supposed
now to depend, think of this project? These nations
have none of this vulgar prejudice against complexion.
what, then, will they think of the wisdom of a people
who, to gratify a low-born prejudice, deliberately plan
to drive out hundreds and thousands of the most peaceful,
industrious, and competent laborers? Mr. Roebuck
said in a late speech at Sheffield, as an argument
for intervention, ‘that the feeling against the black was
stronger at the north than in the south.’ Mr. Roebuck
can now repeat that assertion, and point to this governmental
project in corroboration of its truth. A ‘Slaveholders'
Convention’ was held a few years since in
Maryland to consider whether it would not be best
either to re-enslave the free blacks of that state, or banish
them from its borders. The question was discussed,
and a committee, the chairman of which was United
States Senator Pearce, was appointed to report upon it.
That committee reported ‘that to enslave men now
free would be inhuman, and to banish them from the
state would be to inflict a deadly blow upon the material
interests of the commonwealth; that their labor
was indispensable to the welfare of the state.’ Sir,
your government proposes to do that which the Slaveholders'
Convention of Maryland, with all their hate
of the free blacks, declared to be inconsistent with the
public interest.

But it is said this is a question of prejudice, of national
antipathy, and not to be reasoned about. The
President has said, ‘whether it is right or wrong I
need not now discuss.’

“Great God! Is justice nothing? Is honor nothing?
Is even pecuniary interest to be sacrificed to this insane
and vulgar hate? But it is said this is the ‘white
Man's country.’ Not so, sir. This is the red man's
country by natural right, and the black man's by virtue
of his sufferings and toil. Your fathers by violence
drove the red man out, and forced the black man in.
The children of the black man have enriched the soil
by their tears, and sweat, and blood. Sir, we were
born here, and here we choose to remain. For twenty
years we were goaded and harassed by systematic
efforts to make us colonize. We were coaxed and
mobbed, and mobbed and coaxed, but we refused to
budge. We planted ourselves upon our inalienable
rights, and were proof against all the efforts that were
made to expatriate us. For the last fifteen years we
have enjoyed comparative quiet. Now again the malign
project is broached, and again, as before, in the
name of humanity are we invited to leave.

“In God's name, what good do you expect to accomplish
by such a course? If you will not let our brethren
in bonds go free, if you will not let us, as did our
fathers, share in the privileges of the government, if
you will not let us even help fight the battles of the
country, in Heaven's name, at least, let us alone. Is
that too great a boon to ask of your magnanimity?

“I elect to stay on the soil on which I was born, and
on the plot of ground which I have fairly bought and
honestly paid for. Don't advise me to leave, and don't
add insult to injury by telling me it's for my own
good; of that I am to be the judge. It is in vain that
you talk to me about the ‘two races,’ and their ‘mutual
antagonism.’ In the matter of rights there is but one
race, and that is the human race. ‘God has made of one
blood all nations to dwell on all the face of the earth.’
And it is not true that there is a mutual antagonism
between the white and colored people of this community.
You may antagonize us, but we do not antagonize
you. You may hate us, but we do not hate you.
It may argue a want of spirit to cling to those who
seek to banish us, but such is, nevertheless, the fact.

“Sir, this is our country as much as it is yours, and
we will not leave it. Your ships may be at the door,
but we choose to remain. A few may go, as a few
went to Hayti, and a few to Liberia; but the colored
people as a mass will not leave the land of their birth.
Of course, I can only speak by authority for myself;
but I know the people with whom I am identified, and
I feel confident that I only express their sentiment as
a body when I say that your project of colonizing them
in Central America, or any where else, with or without
their consent, will never succeed. They will migrate,
as do other people, when left to themselves, and when
the motive is sufficient; but they will neither be ‘compelled
to volunteer,’ nor constrained to go of their
‘own accord.’”

JOSEPH JENKINS.

“Look here, upon this picture, and on this.”— HAMLET.

No one accustomed to pass through Cheapside could
fail to have noticed a good-looking man, neither black
nor white, engaged in distributing bills to the thousands
who throng that part of the city of London.
While strolling through Cheapside, one morning, I
saw, for the fiftieth time, Joseph Jenkins, the subject
of this article, handing out his bills to all who would
take them as he thrust them into their hands. I
confess that I was not a little amused, and stood for some
moments watching and admiring his energy in distributing
his papers. A few days after, I saw the same
individual in Chelsea, sweeping a crossing; here, too,
he was equally as energetic as when I met him in the
city. Some days later, while going through Kensington,
I heard rather a sweet, musical voice singing a
familiar psalm, and on looking round was not a little
surprised to find that it was the Cheapside bill-distributor
and Chelsea crossing-sweeper. He was now singing
hymns, and selling religious tracts. I am fond of
patronizing genius, and therefore took one of his tracts
and paid him for a dozen.

During the following week, I saw, while going up
the City Road, that Shakspeare's tragedy of Othello
was to be performed at the Eagle Saloon that night,
and that the character of the Moor was to be taken by
“Selim, an African prince.” Having no engagement
that evening, I resolved at once to attend, to witness
the performance of the “African Talma,” as he was
called. It was the same interest that had induced me
to go to the Italian opera to see Mesdames Sontag and
Grisi in Norma, and to visit Drury Lane to see Macready
take leave of the stage. My expectations
were screwed up to the highest point. The excitement
caused by the publication of “Uncle Tom's
Cabin” had prepared the public for any thing in the
African line, and I felt that the prince would be sure
of a good audience; and in this I was not disappointed,
for, as I took my seat in one of the boxes near the
stage, I saw that the house was crammed with an orderly
company. The curtain was already up when I
entered, and Iago and Roderigo were on the stage.
After a while Othello came in, and was greeted with
thunders of applause, which he very gracefully acknowledged.
Just black enough to take his part
without coloring his face, and being tall, with a good
figure and all easy carriage, a fine, full, and musical
voice, he was well adapted to the character of Othello.
I immediately recognized in the countenance of the
Moor a face that I had seen before, but could not at
the moment tell where. Who could this “prince”
be? thought I. He was too black for Douglass, not
black enough for Ward, not tall enough for Garnet,
too calm for Delany, figure, though fine, not genteel
enough for Remond. However, I was soon satisfied as
to who the star was. Reader, would you think it? it
was no less a person than Mr. Jenkins, the bill-distributor
from Cheapside, and crossing-sweeper from Chelsea!
For my own part, I was overwhelmed with
amazement, and it was some time before I could realize
the fact. He soon showed that he possessed great
dramatic power and skill; and his description to the
Senate of how he won the affections of the gentle Desdemona
stamped him at once as an actor of merit.
“What a pity,” said a lady near me to a gentleman
that was by her side, “that a prince of the royal blood
of Africa should have to go upon the stage for a
living! It is indeed a shame!” When he came
to the scene,—
“O, cursed, cursed slave!—whip me, ye devils,From the possession of this heavenly sight!Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur!Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire!O, Desdemona! Desdemona! dead?Dead? O! O! O!”—
the effect was indeed grand. When the curtain fell,
the prince was called upon the stage, where he was
received with deafening shouts of approbation, and a
number of bouquets thrown at his feet, which he
picked up, bowed, and retired. I went into Cheapside
the next morning, at an early hour, to see if the
prince had given up his old trade for what I supposed
to be a more lucrative one; but I found the hero of
the previous night at his post, and giving out his bills
as energetically as when I had last seen him. Having
to go to the provinces for some months, I lost sight of
Mr. Jenkins, and on my return to town did not trouble
myself to look him up. More than a year after I had
witnessed the representation of Othello at the Eagle, I
was walking, one pleasant Sabbath evening, through
one of the small streets in the borough, when I found
myself in front of a little chapel, where a number of
persons were going in. As I was passing on slowly,
an elderly man said to me, “I suppose you have come
to hear your colored brother preach.” “No,” I answered;
“I was not aware that one was to be here.”
“Yes,” said he; “and a clever man he is, too.” As
the old man offered to find me a seat, I concluded to
go in and hear this son of Africa. The room, which
was not large, was already full. I had to wait but a
short time before the reverend gentleman made his
appearance. He was nearly black, and dressed in a
black suit, with high shirt-collar, and an intellectual-looking
cravat, that nearly hid his chin. A pair of
spectacles covered his eyes. The preacher commenced
by reading a portion of Scripture, and then announced
that they would sing the twenty-eighth hymn in “the
arrangement.” O, that voice! I felt sure that I had
heard that musical voice before; but where, I could
not tell. I was not aware that any of my countrymen
were in London, but felt that, whoever he was, he
was no discredit to the race; for he was a most eloquent
and accomplished orator. His sermon was
against the sale and use of intoxicating drinks, and
the bad habits of the working classes, of whom his
audience was composed.

Although the subject was intensely interesting, I
was impatient for it to come to a close, for I wanted
to speak to the preacher. But the evening being
warm, and the room heated, the reverend gentleman,
on wiping the perspiration from his face, (which, by
the way, ran very freely,) took off his spectacles on
one occasion, so that I immediately recognized him,
which saved me from going up to the pulpit at the end
of the service. Yes; it was the bill-distributor of
Cheapside, the crossing-sweeper of Chelsea, the tract-seller
and psalm-singer of Kensington, and the Othello
of the Eagle Saloon. I could scarcely keep from
laughing outright when I discovered this to be the
man that I had seen in so many characters. As I was
about leaving my seat at the close of the services, the
old man who showed me into the chapel asked me if
I would not like to be introduced to the minister; and
I immediately replied that I would. We proceeded
up the aisle, and met the clergyman as he was descending.
On seeing me, he did not wait for a formal
introduction, but put out his hand and said, “I have
seen you so often, sir, that I seem to know you.”
“Yes,” I replied; “we have met several times, and
under different circumstances.” Without saying more,
he invited me to walk with him towards his home,
which was in the direction of my own residence. We
proceeded; and, during the walk, Mr. Jenkins gave
me some little account of his early history. “You
think me rather an odd fish, I presume,” said he.
“Yes,” I replied. “You are not the only one who
thinks so,” continued he. “Although I am not as
black as some of my countrymen, I am a native of
Africa. Surrounded by some beautiful mountain
scenery, and situated between Darfour and Abyssinia,
two thousand miles in the interior of Africa, is a small
valley going by the name of Tegla. To that valley I
stretch forth my affections, giving it the endearing
appellation of my native home and fatherland. It was
there that I was born, it was there that I received the
fond looks of a loving mother, and it was there that I
set my feet, for the first time, upon a world full of
cares, trials, difficulties, and dangers. My father being
a farmer, I used to be sent out to take care of his goats.
This service I did when I was between seven and eight
years of age. As I was the eldest of the boys, my
pride was raised in no small degree when I beheld my
father preparing a farm for me. This event filled my
mind with the grand anticipation of leaving the care
of the goats to my brother, who was then beginning to
work a little. While my father was making these
preparations, I had the constant charge of the goats;
and being accompanied by two other boys, who resided
near my father's house, we wandered many miles from
home, by which means we acquired a knowledge of
the different districts of our country.

It was while in these rambles with my companions
that I became the victim of the slave-trader. We
were tied with cords and taken to Tegla, and thence to
Kordofan, which is under the jurisdiction of the Pacha
of Egypt. From Kordofan I was brought down to
Dongola and Korti, in Nubia, and from thence down
the Nile to Cairo; and, after being sold nine times, I
became the property of an English gentleman, who
brought me to this country and put me into school.
But he died before I finished my education, and his
family feeling no interest in me, I had to seek a living
as best I could. I have been employed for some years
to distribute handbills for a barber in Cheapside in
the morning, go to Chelsea and sweep a crossing in the
afternoon, and sing psalms and sell religious tracts in
the evening. Sometimes I have an engagement to perform
at some of the small theatres, as I had when you
saw me at the Eagle. I preach for this little congregation
over here, and charge them nothing; for I want
that the poor should have the gospel without money
and without price. I have now given up distributing
bills; I have settled my son in that office. My eldest
daughter was married about three months ago; and I
have presented her husband with the Chelsea crossing,
as my daughter's wedding portion.” “Can he make a
living at it?” I eagerly inquired. “O, yes; that crossing
at Chelsea is worth thirty shillings a week, if it is well
swept,” said he. “But what do you do for a living
for yourself?” I asked. “I am the leader of a band,”
he continued; “and we play for balls and parties, and
three times a week at the Holborn Casino.” “You
are determined to rise,” said I. “Yes,” he replied,—
‘Upward, onward, is my watchword;Though the winds blow good or ill,Though the sky be fair or stormy,This shall be my watchword still,’”

By this time we had reached a point where we
had to part; and I left Joseph Jenkins, impressed
with the idea that he was the greatest genius that
I had met in Europe.

JOHN S. ROCK.

THE subject of this sketch was born in Salem, N. J.,
in 1825. When quite a child, he became passionately
attached to his book, and, unlike most children, seldom
indulged in amusements of any kind. His parents,
anxious to make the most of his talents, kept him
at school until he was eighteen years of age, at which
time he was examined and approved as a teacher of
public schools. He taught school from 1844 to 1848.
Mr. David Allen writes, “His was certainly the most
orderly, and the best conducted, school I ever visited,
although myself a teacher for nearly twenty years.”
During the time Mr. Rock was teaching, Drs. Sharp
and Gibbon opened their libraries to him, and he
commenced the study of physic,—teaching six hours,
studying eight, and giving private lessons two hours
every day. After completing his medical studies, he
found it impossible to get into a medical college; so
he abandoned his idea of becoming a physician, and
went with Dr. Harbert and studied dentistry. He
finished his studies in the summer of 1849. In January,
1850, he went to Philadelphia to practise his
profession. In 1851, he received a silver medal for
artificial teeth. In the same year, he took a silver
medal for a prize essay on temperance. After the
Apprentices' High School had been established in
Philadelphia, and while it was still an evening school,
Mr. Rock took charge of it, and kept it until it was
merged into a day school, under the direction of Professor
Reason. He attended lectures in the American
Medical College, and graduated in 1852.

In 1853, Dr. Rock came to Boston, where he now
resides. On leaving the city of Philadelphia, the professors
of the Dental College gave him letters bearing
testimony to his high professional skill and integrity.
Professor Townsend writes, “Dr. Rock is a graduate
of a medical school in this city, and is favorably known,
and much respected, by the profession. Having seen
him operate, it gives me great pleasure to bear my
testimony to his superior abilities.” Professor J. F.
B. Flagg writes, “I have seen his operations, and have
been much pleased with them. As a scientific man,
I shall miss the intercourse which I have so long
enjoyed in his acquaintance.” After Mr. R. graduated
in medicine, he practised both of his professions. In
1856, he accepted all invitation to deliver a lecture on
the “Unity of the Human Races,” before the Massachusetts
legislature. In 1857, he delivered the oration
on the occasion of the dedication of the new Masonic
Temple in Eleventh Street, Philadelphia. His intense
application to study and to business had so undermined
his health that, in the summer of 1856, he was obliged
to give up all business. After several unsuccessful
surgical operations here, and when nearly all hope for
the restoration of his health was gone, he determined
to go to France. When he was ready to go, he applied
to the government for a passport. This was refused,
Mr. Cass, then secretary of state, saying in reply, that
“a passport had never been granted to a colored man
since the foundation of the government.” Mr. Rock
went to France, however, and underwent a severe surgical
operation at the hands of the celebrated Nélaton.
Professor Nélaton advised him to give up dentistry altogether;
and as his shattered Constitution forbade the
exposure necessary for the practice of medicine, he
gave up both, and bent all his energies to the study
of law. In 1860, he accepted an invitation, and
delivered a lecture on the “Character and Writings of
Madame De Staël,” before the Massachusetts legislature
which he did “with credit to himself and satisfaction,
to the very large audience in attendance.”
Der Pionier, a German newspaper, in Boston, said
when commenting on his criticism of De Staël's “Germany,”
“This thinking, educated German and French
speaking negro proved himself as learned in German
as he is in French literature.” On the 14th of
September, 1861, on motion of T. K. Lothrop, Esq.,
Dr. Rock was examined in the Superior Court, before
Judge Russell, and admitted to practice as an attorney
and counsellor at law in all the courts of Massachusetts.
On the 21st of the same month Mr. Rock received
a commission from the governor and council
as a justice of the peace for seven years for the city
of Boston and county of Suffolk.

We annex an extract from a speech made by him
before the last anniversary of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery
Society.

“Other countries are held out as homes for us.
Why is this? Why is it that the people from all
other countries are invited to come here, and we are
asked to go away? Is it to make room for the refuse
population of Europe? Or why is it that the white
people of this country desire to get rid of us? Does
any one pretend to deny that this is our country? or
that much of its wealth and prosperity is the result
of the labor of our hands? or that our blood and bones
have crimsoned and whitened every battle-field from
Maine to Louisiana? Why this desire to get rid of
us? Can it be possible that because the nation has
robbed us for more than two centuries, and now finds
that she can do it no longer and preserve a good
character among the nations, she, out of hatred, wishes
to banish, because she cannot continue to rob, us? Or
why is it? I will tell you. The free people of color
have succeeded in spite of every thing; and we are today
a living refutation of that shameless assertion that
we cannot take care of ourselves. Abject as our condition
has been, our whole lives prove us to be superior
to the influences that have been brought to bear upon
us to crush us. This cannot be said of your race when
it was oppressed and enslaved. Another reason is,
this nation has wronged us; therefore many hate us.
The Spanish proverb is, ‘Since I have wronged you
I have never liked you.’ This is true of every class
of people. When a man wrongs another, he not only
hates him, but tries to make others dislike him. Unnatural
as this may appear, it is nevertheless true.
You may help a man during his lifetime, and he will
speak well of you; but your first refusal will incur his
displeasure, and show you his ingratitude. When he
has got all he can from you, he has no further use
for you. When the orange is squeezed, we throw it
aside. The black man is a good fellow while he is a
slave, and toils for nothing; but the moment he claims
his own flesh and blood and bones, he is a most obnoxious
creature, and there is a proposition to get rid of
him. He is happy while he remains, a poor, degraded,
ignorant slave, without even the right to his own offspring.
While in this condition the master can ride
in the same carriage, sleep in the same bed, and nurse
from the same bosom. But give this slave the right
to use his own legs, his hands, his body, and his mind,
and this happy and desirable creature is instantly
transformed into a most loathsome wretch, fit only
to be colonized somewhere near the mountains of the
moon, or eternally banished from civilized beings!
You must not lose sight of the fact it is the emancipated
slave and the free colored man that it is
proposed to remove—not the slave. This country is
perfectly adapted to negro slavery; it is the free blacks
that the air is not good for! What an idea! a country
good for slavery and not good for freedom! This
monstrous idea would be scorned by even a Fejee
Islander.”

As a public speaker Mr. Rock stands deservedly
high; his discourses being generally of an elevated
tone, and logically put together. As a member of
the Boston bar, he has thus far succeeded well, and
bids fair to obtain his share of public patronage. In
personal appearance Mr. Rock is tall and of good
figure, with a thoughtful countenance and a look that
indicates the student. In color he is what is termed a
grief, about one remove from the negro. By his own
color he has long been regarded as a representative
man.

WILLIAM DOUGLASS.

WILLIAM DOUGLASS was a clergyman of the Protestant
Episcopal denomination, and for a number of
years was rector of St. Thomas Church, Philadelphia.
We met Mr. Douglass in England in 1852, and
became impressed with the belief that he was no ordinary
man. He had a finished education, being well versed
in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. He possessed large and
philanthropic views, but was extremely diffident, which
gave one the opinion that he was a man of small ability.
Being in Philadelphia in the spring of 1860, we
attended the morning service at his church. When
the preacher made his appearance, all eyes were turned
to the pulpit. His figure was prepossessing—a great
thing in a public speaker. Weak, stunted, deformed-looking
men labor under much disadvantage. Mr.
Douglass had a commanding look, a clear, musical
voice, and was a splendid reader. He was no dull
drone when the service was over and the sermon had
commenced. With downcast eye he read no moral
essay that touched no conscience and fired no heart.
On the contrary, he was spirited in the pulpit. He
looked his congregation in the face; he directed his
discourse to them. He took care that not a single
word should lose its aim. No one fell asleep while
he was speaking, but all seemed intensely interested
in the subject in hand. Mr. Douglass was a general
favorite with the people of his own city, and especially,
the members of his society. He was a talented writer,
and published, a few years ago, a volume of sermons,
which are filled with gems of thought and original
ideas. A feeling of deep piety and humanity runs
through the entire book. Mr. Douglass was of unmixed
blood, gentlemanly in his manners, chaste in
conversation, and social in private life. Though not
active in public affairs, he was, nevertheless, interested
in all that concerned the freedom and elevation of his
race. He visited England and the West Indies some
years ago, and had an extensive acquaintance beyond
the limits of his own country. Mr. Douglass was respected
and esteemed by the white clergy of Philadelphia,
who were forced to acknowledge his splendid
abilities.

ELYMAS PAYSON ROGERS.

E. P. ROGERS, a clergyman of the Presbyterian order,
and pastor of a church at Newark, New Jersey, was a
man of education, research, and literary ability. He
was not a fluent and easy speaker, but he was logical,
and spoke with a degree of refinement seldom met
with. He possessed poetical genius of no mean order,
and his poem on the “Missouri Compromise,” which
he read in many of the New England cities and towns
in 1856, contains brilliant thoughts and amusing
suggestions. The following on Truth is not without
point:—

“When Truth is girded for the fight,And draws her weapons keen and bright,And lifts aloft her burnished shield,Her godlike influence to wield,If victory in that self-same hourIs not accomplished by her power,She'll not retreat nor flee away,But win the field another day.She will with majesty arise,Seize her traducers by surprise,And by her overwhelming mightWill put her deadly foes to flight.”

The allusion to the threat of the south against the
north is a happy one, in connection with the rebellion.

“I'll show my power the country through,And will the factious north subdue;And Massachusetts shall obey,And yield to my increasing sway.She counts her patriotic deeds,But scatters her disunion seeds;She proudly tells us of the teaSunk by her worthies in the sea,And then she talks more proudly stillOf Lexington and Bunker Hill;But on that hill, o'er patriots' graves,I'll yet enroll my negro slaves.I may have trouble, it is true,But still I'll put the rebels through,And make her statesmen bow the knee,Yield to my claims, and honor me.And though among them I shall findThe learned, the brilliant, and refined,If on me they shall e'er reflect,No senate chamber shall protectTheir guilty pates and heated brains,From hideous gutta percha canes.”

The election of N. P. Banks, as speaker of the
House of Representatives, is mentioned in the
succeeding lines:—
“But recently the north drove backThe southern tyrants from the track,And put to flight their boasting ranks,And gave the speaker's chair to Banks.”

Mr. Rogers was of unmixed race, genteel in appearance,
forehead large and well developed, fine figure,
and pleasing in his manners. Anxious to benefit his
race, he visited Africa in 1861, was attacked with the
fever, and died in a few days. No man was more
respected by all classes than he. His genial influence
did much to soften down the pro-slavery feeling which
existed in the city where he resided.

J. THEODORE HOLLY.

IF there is any man living who is more devoted
to the idea of a “Negro Nationality” than Dr. Delany,
that man is J. Theodore Holly. Possessing a
good education, a retentive memory, and being of studious
habits, Mr. Holly has brought himself up to a
point of culture not often attained by men even in the
higher walks of life. Unadulterated in race, devotedly
attached to Africa and her descendants, he has
made a “Negro Nationality ” a matter of much thought
and study. He paid a visit to Hayti in 1858 or 1859,
returned home, and afterwards preached, lectured, and
wrote in favor of Haytian emigration. In concluding
a long essay on this subject, in the Anglo-African
Magazine, he says,—

“From these thoughts it will be seen that whatsoever
is to be the future destiny of the descendants of
Africa, Hayti certainly holds the most important relation
to that destiny. And if we were to be reduced
to the dread alternative of having her historic fame
blotted out of existence, or that celebrity which may
have been acquired elsewhere by all the rest of our
race combined, we should say, Preserve the name, the
fame, and the sovereign existence of Hayti, though
every thing else shall perish. Yes, let Britain and
France undermine, if they will, the enfranchisement
which they gave to their West Indian slaves, by their
present apprenticeship system; let the lone star of Liberia,
placed in the firmament of nationalities by a
questionable system of American philanthropy, go out
in darkness; let the opening resources of Central
Africa be again shut up in their wonted seclusion; let
the names and deeds of our Nat Turners, Denmark
Veseys, Penningtons, Delanys, Douglasses, and Smiths
be forgotten forever; but never let the self-emancipating
deeds of the Haytian people be effaced; never let
her heroically achieved nationality be brought low; no,
never let the names of her Toussaint, her Dessalines,
her Rigaud, her Christophe, and her Petion be forgotten,
or blotted out from the historic pages of the world's
history.”

Mr. Holly is a clergyman of the Protestant Episcopal
order, and for several years was pastor of a church at
New Haven, Connecticut, where he sustained the reputation
of being an interesting and eloquent preacher.
His reading is at times rapid, yet clear and emphatic.
He seems to aim more at what he says than how he
says it; and if you listen, you will find food for thought
in every phrase. As a writer he is forcible and
argumentative, but never dull. In person, Mr. Holly is of
the ordinary size, has a bright eye, agreeable countenance,
form erect, voice clear and mellow. He uses
good language, is precise in his manners, and wears
the air of a gentleman. Infatuated with the idea of a
home in Hayti, he raised a colony and sailed for Port
au Prince in the spring of 1861. He was unfortunate
in the selection of a location, and the most of those
who went out with him, including his own family, died
during their first six months on the island. Mr. Holly
has recently returned to the United States. Whether
he intends to remain or not, we are not informed.

JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON.

DR. PENNINGTON was born a slave on the farm of
Colonel Gordon, in the State of Maryland. His early
life was not unlike the common lot of the bondmen of
the Middle States. He was by trade a blacksmith, which
increased his value to his owner. He had no opportunities
for learning, and was ignorant of letters when
he made his escape to the north. Through intense
application to books, he gained, as far as it was possible,
what slavery had deprived him of in his younger days.
But he always felt the early blight upon his soul.

Dr. Pennington had not been free long ere he turned
his attention to theology, and became an efficient
preacher in the Presbyterian denomination. He was
several years settled over a church at Hartford, Conn.
He has been in Europe three times, his second visit
being the most important, as he remained there three
or four years, preaching and lecturing, during which
time he attended the Peace Congresses held at Paris,
Brussels, and London. While in Germany, the degree
of Doctor of Divinity was conferred upon him
by the University of Heidelberg. On his return to
the United States be received a call, and was settled
as pastor over Shiloh Church, New York city.

The doctor has been a good student, is a ripe scholar,
and is deeply versed in theology. While at Paris,
in 1849, we, with the American and English delegates
to the Peace Congress, attended divine service at the
Protestant Church, where Dr. Pennington had been
invited to preach. His sermon on that occasion was
an eloquent production, made a marked impression on
his hearers, and created upon the minds of all a more
elevated idea of the abilities of the negro. In past
years he has labored zealously and successfully for the
education and moral, social, and religious elevation of
his race. The doctor is unadulterated in blood, with
strongly-marked African features; in stature he is of
the common size, slightly inclined to corpulency, with
an athletic frame and a good constitution. The fact
that Dr. Pennington is considered a good Greek, Latin,
and German scholar, although his early life was
spent in slavery, is not more strange than that Henry
Diaz, the black commander in Brazil, is extolled in all
the histories of that country as one of the most sagacious
and talented men and experienced officers of
whom they could boast; nor that Hannibal, an African,
gained by his own exertion a goof education, and
rose to be a lieutenant-general and director of artillery
under Peter the Great; nor that Don Juan Latino,
a negro, became teacher of the Latin language at
Seville; nor that Anthony William Am, a native of
Guinea, took the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at the
University of Wittemburg; nor that James J. Capetein,
fresh from the coast of Africa, became master of the
Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldaic languages; nor that
James Derham, an imported negro, should, by his own
genius and energy, be considered one of the ablest physicians
in New Orleans, and of whom Dr. Rush says, “I
found him very learned. I thought I could give him
information concerning the treatment of diseases; but I
learned more from him than he could expect from me.”
We might easily extend the catalogue, for we have
abundant materials. Blumenbach boldly affirms of the
negro, “There is no savage people who have distinguished
themselves by such examples of perfectibility
and capacity for scientific cultivation.”

A MAN WITHOUT A NAME.

IT was in the month of December, 1852, while Colonel
Rice and family were seated around a bright wood
fire, whose blaze lighted up the large dining room in
their old mansion, situated ten miles from Dayton, in
the State of Ohio, that they heard a knock at the door,
which was answered by the familiar “Come in” that
always greets the stranger in the Western States.
Squire Loomis walked in and took a seat on one of
the three rocking-chairs, which had been made vacant
by the young folks, who rose to give place to their
highly influential and wealthy neighbor. It was a
beautiful night; the sky was clear, the wind had
bushed its deep moanings, the most brilliant of the
starry throng stood out in bold relief, despite the superior
light of the moon. “I see some one standing at
the gate,” said Mrs. Rice, as she left the window and
came nearer the fire. “I'll go out and see who it is,”
exclaimed George, as he quitted his chair and started
for the door. The latter soon returned and whispered
to his father, and both left the room, evincing that
something unusual was at hand. Not many minutes
elapsed, however, before the father and son entered,
accompanied by a young man, whose complexion
showed plainly that other than Anglo-Saxon blood
coursed through his veins. The whole company rose,
and the stranger was invited to draw near to the fire.
Question after question was now pressed upon the
new-comer by the colonel and the squire, but without
eliciting satisfactory replies.

“You need not be afraid, my friend,” said the host,
as he looked intently in the colored man's face, “to
tell where you are from and to what place you are
going. If you are a fugitive, as I suspect, give us
your story, and we will protect and defend you to the
last.”

Taking courage from these kind remarks, the
mulatto said, “I was born, sir, in the State of
Kentucky, and raised in Missouri. My master was my
father; my mother was his slave. That, sir, accounts
for the fairness of my complexion. As soon as I was
old enough to labor I was taken into my master's
dwelling as a servant, to attend upon the family. My
mistress, aware of my near relationship to her
husband, felt humiliated, and often in her anger would
punish me severely for no cause whatever. My near
approach to the Anglo-Saxon aroused the jealousy and
hatred of the overseer, and he flogged me, as he said,
to make me know my place. My fellow-slaves hated
me because I was whiter than themselves. Thus my
complexion was construed into a crime, and I was
made to curse my father for the Anglo-Saxon blood
that courses through my veins.

“My master raised slaves to supply the southern
market, and every year some of my companions were
sold to the slave-traders and taken farther south.
Husbands were separated from their wives, and children
torn from the arms of their agonizing mothers.
These outrages were committed by the man whom
nature compelled me to look upon as my father. My
mother and brothers were sold and taken away from
me; still I bore all, and made no attempt to escape,
for I yet had near me an only sister, whom I dearly
loved. At last, the negro driver attempted to rob my
sister of her virtue. She appealed to me for protection.
Her innocence, beauty, and tears were enough
to stir the stoutest heart. My own, filled with grief
and indignation, swelled within me as though it would
burst or leap from my bosom. My tears refused to
flow: the fever in my brain dried them up. I could
stand it no longer. I seized the wretch by the throat,
and hurled him to the ground; and with this strong
arm I paid him for old and new. The next day I was
tried by a jury of slaveholders for the crime of having
within me the heart of a man, and protecting my sister
from the licentious embrace of a libertine. And—
would you believe it, sir?—that jury of enlightened
Americans,—yes, sir, Christian Americans,—after
grave deliberation, decided that I had broken the laws,
and sentenced me to receive five hundred lashes upon
my bare back. But, sir, I escaped from them the night
before I was to have been flogged.

“Afraid of being arrested and taken back, I
remained the following day hid away in a secluded spot
on the banks of the Mississippi River, protected from
the gaze of man by the large trees and thick canebrakes
that sheltered me. I waited for the coming of
another night. All was silence around me, save the
sweet chant of the feathered songsters in the forest, or
the musical ripple of the eddying waters at my feet. I
watched the majestic bluffs as they gradually faded
away, through the gray twilight, from the face of day
into the darker shades of night. I then turned to the
rising moon as it peered above, ascending the deep
blue ether, high in the heavens, casting its mellow rays
over the surrounding landscape, and gilding the smooth
surface of the noble river with its silvery line. I viewed
with interest the stars as they appeared, one after
another, in the firmament. It was then and there that I
studied nature in its lonely grandeur, and saw in it the
goodness of God, and felt that He who created so
much beauty, and permitted the fowls of the air and
the beasts of the field to roam at large and be free,
never intended that man should be the slave of his fellow-man.
I resolved that I would be a bondman no
longer; and, taking for my guide the north star, I
started for Canada, the negro's land of liberty. For
many weeks I travelled by night, and lay by during
the day. O, how often, while hid away in the forest,
waiting for nightfall, have I thought of the beautiful
lines I once heard a stranger recite: -

‘O, hail Columbia! happy land!The cradle land of liberty!Where none but negroes bear the brand,Or feel the lash of slavery.“Then let the glorious anthem peal,And drown “Britannia rules the waves:”Strike up the song that men can feel—“Columbia rules four million slaves!” ’

“At last I arrived at a depot of the Underground
Railroad, took the express train, and here I am.”

“You are welcome,” said Colonel Rice, as he rose
from his chair, walked to the window and looked out,
as if apprehensive that the fugitive's pursuers were
near by. “You are welcome,” continued he; “and I
will aid you on your way to Canada, for you are not
safe here.”

“Are you not afraid of breaking the laws by assisting
this man to escape?” remarked Squire Loomis.

“I care not for laws when they stand in the way of
humanity,” replied the colonel.

“If you aid him in reaching Canada, and we should
ever have a war with England, may be he'll take up
arms and fight against his own country,” said the squire.

The fugitive eyed the law-abiding man attentively
for a moment, and then exclaimed, “Take up arms
against my country? What country, sir, have I? The
Supreme Court of the United States, and the laws of
the south, doom me to be the slave of another. There
is not a foot of soil over which the stars and stripes
wave, where I can stand and be protected by law.
I've seen my mother sold in the cattle market. I
looked upon my brothers as they were driven away in
chains by the slave speculator. The heavy negro whip
has been applied to my own shoulders until its biting
lash sunk deep into my quivering flesh. Still, sir, you
call this my country. True, true, I was born in this
land. My grandfather fought in the revolutionary
war; my own father was in the war of 1812. Still,
sir, I am a slave, a chattel, a thing, a piece of property.
I've been sold in the market with horses and swine;
the initials of my master's name are branded deep in
this arm. Still, sir, you call this my country. And,
now that I am making my escape, you feel afraid,
if I reach Canada, and there should be war with England,
that I will take up arms against my own country.
Sir, I have no country but the grave; and I'll
seek freedom there before I will again be taken back
to slavery. There is no justice for me at the south;
every right of my race is trampled in the dust, until
humanity bleeds at every pore. I am bound for Canada,
and woe to him that shall attempt to arrest me.
If it comes to the worst, I will die fighting for freedom.”

“I honor you for your courage,” exclaimed Squire
Loomis, as he sprang from his seat, and walked rapidly
to and fro through the room. “It is too bad,” continued
he, “that such men should be enslaved in a land
whose Declaration of Independence proclaims all men
to be free and equal. I will aid you in any thine,
that I can. What is your name?”

“I have no name,” said the fugitive. “I once had
a name,—it was William,—but my master's nephew
came to live with him, and as I was a house servant,
and the young master and I would, at times, get
confused in the same name, orders were given for me to
change mine. From that moment, I resolved that, as
slavery had robbed me of my liberty and my name, I
would not attempt to have another till I was free. So,
sir, for once you have a man standing before you without
a name.”

SAMUEL R. WARD.

FEW public speakers exercised greater influence in
the pulpit and on the platform, in behalf of human
freedom, than did Samuel R. Ward, in the early days of
abolition agitation. From 1840 up to the passage of the
Fugitive Slave Law, in 1850, he either preached or
lectured in every church, hall, or school house in Western
and Central New York. Endowed with superior mental
powers, and having, through the aid of Hon. Gerrit
Smith, obtained a good education, and being a close
student, Mr. Ward's intellectual faculties are well
developed. He was, for several years, settled over a
white congregation, of the Presbyterian order, at South
Butler, N. Y., where he preached with great acceptance,
and was highly respected. As a speaker, he was
justly held up as one of the ablest men, white or black,
in the United States. The first time we ever heard
him, (in 1842,) he was announced in the advertisement
as “the black Daniel Webster.” Standing above six
feet in height, possessing a strong voice, and energetic
in his gestures, Mr. Ward always impressed his highly
finished and logical speeches upon his hearers. No
detractor of the negro's abilities ever attributed his talents
to his having Anglo-Saxon blood in his veins. As
a black man, Mr. Ward was never ashamed of his complexion,
but rather appeared to feel proud of it. When
Captain Rynders and his followers took possession
of the platform of the American Anti-Slavery Society,
at their anniversary, in New York, in the spring of
1852, Frederick Douglass rose to defend the rights of
the Association and the liberty of speech. Rynders
objected to the speaker upon the ground that he was
not a negro, but half white. Ward, being present,
came forward, amid great applause, and the rowdy
leader had to “knock under,” and confess that genuine
eloquence was not confined to the white man.
William J. Wilson says of Ward, “Ideas form the
basis of all Mr. Ward utters. If words and ideas are not
inseparable, then, as mortar is to the stones that compose
the building, so are his words to his ideas. In
this, I judge, lies Mr. Ward's greatest strength.
Concise without abruptness; without extraordinary stress,
always clear and forcible if sparing of ornament, never
inelegant,—in all, there appears a consciousness of
strength, developed by close study and deep reflection,
and only put forth because the occasion demands it.
His appeals are directed rather to the understanding
than the imagination; but so forcibly do they take
possession of it, that the heart unhesitatingly yields.”

Mr. Ward visited England in 1852, where he was
regarded as an eloquent advocate of the rights of his
race. He now resides at Kingston, Jamaica.

SIR EDWARD JORDAN.

EDWARD JORDAN was born in Kingston, Jamaica, in
the year 1798. After quitting school he entered a
clothing store as a clerk; but his deep hatred to slavery,
and the political and social outrages committed upon
the free colored men, preyed upon his mind to such an
extent that, in 1826, he associated himself with Robert
Osborn, in the publication of The Watchman, a weekly
newspaper devoted to the freedom and enfranchisement
of the people of color. His journal was conducted
with marked ability, and Mr. Jordan soon began to
wield a tremendous influence against the slave power.
While, absent from his editorial duties, in 1830, an
article appeared in The Watchman, upon which its editor
was indicted for constructive treason. He was at once
arrested, placed in the dock, and arraigned for trial.
He pleaded “not guilty,” and asked for time to
prepare for his defence. The plea was allowed, and the
case was traversed to the next court. The trial came
on at the appointed time; the jury was packed, for the
pro-slavery element had determined on the conviction
of the distinguished advocate of liberty. The whole
city appeared to be lost to every thing but the proceedings
of the assize. It was feared, that, if convicted, a
riot would be the result, and the authorities prepared
for this. A vessel of war was brought up abreast of
the city, the guns of which were pointed up one of the
principal streets, and at almost every avenue leading
to the sea, a merchant vessel was moored, armed at
least with one great gun, pointing in a similar direction,
to rake the streets from bottom to top. A detachment
of soldiers was kept under arms, with orders to
be ready for action at a moment's warning. The officers
of the court, including the judge, entered upon
their duties, armed with pistols; and the sheriff was
instructed to shoot the prisoner in the dock if a rescue
was attempted. If convicted, Mr. Jordan's punishment
was to be death. Happily for all, the verdict
was “not guilty.” The acquittal of the editor of
The Watchman carried disappointment and dismay
into the ranks of the slave oligarchy, while it gave a
new impetus to the anti-slavery cause, both in Jamaica
and in Great Britain, and which culminated in the
abolition of slavery on the 1st of August, 1834. The
following year, Mr. Jordan was elected member of the
Assembly for the city of Kingston, which he still
represents. About this time, The Watchman was
converted into a daily paper, under the title of The
Morning Journal, still in existence, and owned by
Jordan and Osborn. In 1853, Mr. Jordan was elected
mayor of his native city without opposition, which
office he still holds. He was recently chosen premier
of the island and president of the privy council.

No man is more respected in the Assembly than Mr.
Jordan, and reform measures offered by him are often
carried through the house, owing to the respect the
members have for the introducer. In the year 1860,
the honorable gentleman was elevated to the dignity
of knighthood by the Queen. Sir Edward Jordan has
ever been regarded as an honest, upright, and temperate
man. In a literary point of view, he is considered
one of the first men in Jamaica.

It is indeed a cheering sign for the negro to look
at one of his race, who, a few years ago, was tried for
his life in a city in which he is now the chief magistrate,
inspector of the prison in which he was once
incarcerated, and occupying a seat in the legislature by
the side of the white man who ejected him from his
position as a clerk, on account of his color. To those
who say that the two races cannot live in peace together,
we point to the Jamaica Assembly, with more
than half of its members colored; and to all who think
that the negro is only fit for servitude, we reply by
saying, Look at Sir Edward Jordan.